


A Dangerous Game

by LittleWhisperer



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe- Mafia, Drama, Drug Use, F/M, Prostitution, Smut, angst (of course)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2018-11-21 15:30:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 38,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11360313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleWhisperer/pseuds/LittleWhisperer
Summary: Lies, subterfuge, sex, and murder...welcome to the world behind closed doors that tempts many and kills more, a world where no one is who they say they are and motives are never what they seem. Levi and Mikasa are no exception, so when they are thrust together by circumstance, their decisions could either lead to their redemption or their downfall. The question is: which will it be?





	1. Just Your Average Meet Cute

Mikasa was running as fast as she could, her lungs burning with exertion as she sprinted down the street. When she reached the corner she risked a look back, stealing a quick glance over her shoulder.

They were coming, gaining on her. And they were armed.

Cursing, she rounded the corner and renewed her break-neck pace, her quads burning as she pushed them to their limits. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had to run flat out, and her body wasn’t used to the strain.

And to make matters worse, the drugs still coursing through her system were only heightening the strain, making it incredibly difficult to move and focus.

But she couldn’t stop. If she stopped, she was dead. So she ran and ran, winding through the city streets in a desperate attempt to shake her attackers.

She thought she’d lost them when the crack of gunfire drew her attention. Gasping, she reflexively shielded herself as a bullet impacted a shop window to her left. She whipped around, her eyes furtively scanning the street for a sign of the shooter.

She saw him just in time. He was approaching from the opposite side of the street, and Mikasa ducked and rolled as he took another shot at her.

But she was a hair too slow, and she gasped in pain as the bullet grazed her leg, slicing into the skin of her upper thigh. She fell hard, clutching at the wound.

 _I have to get out of here,_ she thought, her mind a whir of panic. Gritting her teeth against the pain, she forced herself to her feet and broke into the fastest run she could muster, ignoring the way her leg throbbed with each stride.

She veered down an alley a few yards shy of the nearest intersection, her breath coming in short gasps. Despite how badly she was struggling, she kept running, racing down the alley and turning onto a side street, intentionally avoiding all of the main roads. She knew didn’t have much time left; if she couldn’t shake her pursuers soon, her leg would be the least of her worries.

She had nearly made it to the end of another side street when the purr of an engine reached her ears. Mikasa twirled around, squinting against the sudden blinding light as a pair of headlights drew near. For a second she was afraid it was one of _them_ , but the driver didn't seem to be intentionally trying to run her down.

Taking a wild chance, Mikasa leapt into the middle of the road and waved her arms above her head. “Hey!” She yelled. “Stop! Please!”

The car didn’t slow down.

 

**

Levi flicked through the stations on the radio, his scowl deepening as each new disappointing tune blasted through his speakers. Finally, he shut it off, preferring the quiet to the awful noise that was somehow viewed as music by the majority of the population. It was late, he was tired, and the last thing he wanted was some pop culture shit stuck in his head while he endured another lonely night.

Taking a shortcut, he turned down a side street, cutting the turn sharply just because he could. That was the nice thing about German cars—they handled like a dream. It was a small pleasure, but small pleasures were all he had left to enjoy these days.

Sighing, he reached over and rummaged in the glove compartment for his cigarettes, momentarily taking his eyes off the road.

“Gotcha,” he muttered as his hand closed around the familiar shape of the carton. He tossed it onto the passenger seat and closed the glove compartment, turning his attention back to the road.

“Fuck!” He hollered as he saw the girl waving wildly in the glare of his headlights. He slammed on the breaks, nearly stalling his car as he screeched to a halt mere inches from her, his tires burning rubber on the road behind him. If he’d reacted any slower he would’ve killed her.

For a suspended moment, Levi just stared at her as she stood there. Her chest was heaving and her wide, dark eyes were locked onto his through the glass of the windshield. Her leg was bleeding and she had a couple of nasty scratches on her face, and Levi imagined there were probably more hidden beneath what was left of her ratty clothing.

Apparently unfazed by the fact that he'd nearly run her over, the girl hobbled around to his passenger door and knocked on the window. “Please,” she managed between shaky breaths. "You have to help me.”

Levi pressed his lips into a hard line. _She’s probably some strung out junkie- might even be dangerous._

There was no point in taking the risk.

Decision made, Levi broke eye contact without saying a word, and then he depressed the gas pedal with more force than necessary, leaving her there in the middle of the street.

He tried not to look back, but some sick part of him couldn’t help it and he found himself watching her shrinking figure in his rear view mirror. She looked pathetic and helpless, just standing there staring after him, arms hanging limply at her sides.

“I’m done with this,” he said aloud. “Done.” _She’s not my problem._

He was still repeating that line to himself and staring in the rear view when he saw the men come sprinting into the alley. They were heading for the girl, guns in hand.

Surprised, Levi stopped the car, his eyes widening. It was one thing to leave some junkie to come down off of a bad trip, but it was a whole other thing to let a girl get shot to death while he watched. He was heartless, but he wasn’t a complete monster.

 _So prove it,_ some inner voice taunted him.

With a curse, Levi threw the car in reverse, zipping back towards the girl.

She jumped aside as he reached her, and he quickly leaned over and flung the passenger door open, keeping one eye glued to the beefy man barreling towards them. They didn’t have much time.

“Get in,” he barked.

He didn’t have to ask twice. The girl launched herself into the car, slamming the door shut behind her.

“Buckle up.”

Revving the engine, Levi once again burned rubber as he tore off down the narrow street, cringing when he heard one of the men fire his gun at them. The first bullet missed them but the second took out Levi's right mirror, shattering the glass on impact.

Furious, Levi weaved on the road even as he increased his speed, making the car a harder mark to hit. When they reached the end of the street he veered left, running through a stoplight and speeding the wrong way down a one-way street, exiting onto a larger avenue and following it for a few blocks before finally turning into a convenience store parking lot when he was certain they had no tails. He flicked the headlights off and pulled into a space that was partially blocked from view of the main road—just to be safe.

And then he listened.

Everything was quiet.

Satisfied that they were alone, Levi took a second to calm himself down. One of his hands was still holding the steering wheel in a death grip, the other clutching the stick shift. He relaxed his grip slowly - finger by finger - as his pulse slowed, and then he engaged the parking brake and leaned back in his seat, letting out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

Finally, he looked over at the girl.

She was fading in and out, her eyelids fluttering as she fought to stay conscious. Perspiration dotted her forehead, and the wound on her leg was soaking into the fabric of her jeans and bleeding into his leather upholstery.

If she hadn’t been in such bad shape he would’ve throttled her.

“Hey.” He snapped his fingers in front of her face. “Can you hear me?”

Her voice was thin as a reed. “Yes.”

That was a good sign. He reached over her and again opened the glove compartment, this time searching for the wad of spare bills he kept there in case of emergency. “What’s your name?” He asked as he palmed the money.

“Mi...na. My name…is Mina.”

He tucked the money into his pocket. “All right. Mina, I need you to listen. I’m going to go inside and get some things for your leg. Stay here, don’t move, and keep yourself awake. I’d take you straight to the hospital, but you won’t make it there, not bleeding the way you are.”

She grabbed his arm, her grip surprisingly strong for someone who looked like she was halfway to the grave.

“No hospital,” she murmured. Her dark eyes were full of fear. “They’ll find me there. Please don’t…just leave me here.”

 _What the hell kind of trouble is this girl in?_ “If I leave you here you’re going to die.”

“I’ll take the risk.”

Levi felt his brows reach his hairline in disbelief, and he took a closer look at his passenger.

She was in bad shape - that was for damn sure - but now he looked beyond the cuts and bruises. There was resilience in her dark eyes and the hard set of her jaw, strength in the cut muscles of her arms, stubbornness in the way she refused to succumb to unconsciousness. Whatever else she was, this girl was a fighter.

And that was something he could respect.

“All right,” he yielded. “No hospital.” He opened his door and took the keys. “I’ll be back in a minute. Try not to die.”

Without waiting for a reply, he slammed the door, hit the locks, and headed for the store.

_I’ll help her tonight, and then she’s on her own. She’s not my problem. I said I was done with this life, and I meant it. I'm fucking done._

Of course, he’d been saying that for seven years, and here he was. Still in the game. Living proof that once you're in, you're in for good. Kenny had tried to tell him that, once, had tried to ingrain in him the truth that there was no way out of this life.

But his alcoholic uncle had been wrong; there _was_ a way out. And Levi planned to take it.

He pulled open the door of the convenience store, ignoring the ding of the bell and the call of the cashier asking him if he was looking for anything in particular, and he walked towards the aisle boasting "FIRST AID", his black mood getting blacker.

_Today I help the girl, and tomorrow I get out. Simple as that._

Right. As if anything in his life ever went as planned.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is my attempt at writing a shorter story/ a mental break from the full-on angst fest that is TWP. Think of it as my stab at the 'airport novel' genre--i.e., a quick, easy read that will hopefully be enjoyable but probably isn't going to rock your world. It's only going to be a few chapters long, and my goal is not to let the plot expand like the crazy extremes of my other stories. I'm also going to try and update at least once a week. This is going to be a challenge, but I want to test my writing skills under pressure, so to speak. (Disclaimer: this may very well end up being a train wreck, and I may freak out and delete it halfway through because of self-imposed anxiety. You've been warned.)


	2. The Morning After

When Mikasa blinked her eyes open, the first thing she felt was disorientation, followed quickly by pain and a rolling tidal wave of intense nausea. She groaned, pressing a hand to her head.

“About time you woke up.”

The voice was low and gruff and vaguely familiar, but Mikasa's doubt as to whether or not it belonged to a friend or enemy had her sitting up, fists rising defensively even as her stomach roiled at the sudden motion.

A face swam into her field of vision—a man's face: dark hair and brows, steel-colored eyes, thin lips pulled down into a decisive scowl.

It filled her with the same sense of vague familiarity as the voice.

“Relax,” the man said. He was sitting on the edge of the bed she was in, far enough away that she would have to really extend her punches to reach him. “If I wanted to kill you," he continued, "I would’ve let you bleed out last night. Or I would’ve let your attacker shoot you.” He paused, gaze flickering to her bandaged thigh. “Again,” he added dryly.

Mikasa didn’t appreciate his sense of humor, but she still dropped her fists. What he’d said made sense, after all. “Where am I?" She asked, looking around at the sparsely furnished, small bedroom. It was nearly empty, adorned only with a bedside table, a lamp resting on said table, and a chair in one corner. It was also impeccably clean.

_As clean as a kill room after it's been bleached._

"My apartment," her companion answered before Mikasa could dwell anymore on the state of the room. "You didn't want me to take you to a hospital, so I brought you here."

Because of her leg. Right.

Mikasa looked down, noticing for the first time that she was only wearing the skimpy set of lingerie that the Dok family had deigned to call a 'uniform'. "Where are my clothes?" She asked.

"In the garbage," the man said without remorse. "They were dirty and bloody and hopeless."

"And so you what—undressed me while I was unconscious?"

He gave her a look like she was exceptionally thick. "It would've been hard to clean your bullet wound and check you for other injuries without taking your clothes off, so yeah, I undressed you." His lips twisted slightly. "Don't worry; I was a little preoccupied with your bleeding leg to admire your classy choice of underwear."

Mikasa ignored that jab and tried to piece together the hours she'd lost. "So you…you picked me up last night in the alley, then brought me here and cleaned me up?”

His scowl didn’t waver. “Quite the genius, aren’t you?”

Mikasa bristled. “Forgive me for not remembering the past twenty-four hours in vivid detail,” she tossed out. “I _was_ just shot.”

The man sighed and stood up. He was short, probably shorter than she was, but Mikasa could see the definition of hard muscles beneath the fitted black mock neck sweater he was wearing. If he wasn't acting like such an ass, she might have even appreciated the view.

“Yes, you were,” he said, crossing his arms. He raised his chin slightly, peering down at her. “Why is that? In my experience, junkies don’t usually get hunted down by armed men.”

Mikasa sat up a little taller in spite of the pain. “I’m not a junkie,” she said.

The man gestured towards her left arm. “My eyes work well enough to spot needle marks, Mina.”

Mikasa felt a moment of panic before she remembered that she had told him her name the previous night. At least she'd still had enough wits about her to know not to give her _real_ name.

For one awful moment, a flashback from her time as Mina popped into Mikasa's head. She'd been on her hands and knees on the floor in the Doks' whorehouse, the textured pattern of the rug imprinting itself onto her palms and knees a little deeper each time Nile had pounded into her. _Mina,_ he'd chanted as he'd quickened his thrusts, his sweaty fingers pressing into her hips like he was trying to brand her. _Mina...oh, fuck...Mina, you're so fucking tight._

Mikasa felt a shiver that had nothing to do with withdrawal course down her spine. The memory of that vile man inside of her was almost enough to make her wish she'd started using sooner. At least then she would have been able to mentally check out whenever he came to visit her.

Frowning, Mikasa traced a finger over the mark below her left elbow, remembering the sting of the most recent needle as it sank into her skin. “I never used before this month,” she murmured, realizing she'd been quiet for too long. “And it…it wasn’t my choice.”

For the first time since she’d woken up, Mikasa saw the man’s scowl falter. “Oh?” He said, a touch of curiosity in his voice.

Before she could respond, the wave of nausea broke and her stomach clenched violently. She leaned over the side of the bed, and, seemingly out of nowhere, a trashcan materialized in the man's outstretched hands just as the meager contents of her stomach came back up.

Mikasa wiped the back of her hand across her mouth when the retching stopped, her body shaking. She could feel sweat beading across her brow and running down her spine—the cold kind of sweat that made you shiver. She looked up in time to see the man moving the trashcan away, a look of pure disgust etched on his features.

It made Mikasa feel lousier than she already did. “Sorry,” she said.

The short man exhaled. “It is what it is. You’re just lucky your withdrawal symptoms aren’t worse. Heroin is nasty business.” He gave her a look. “But it’s not _my_ business, so listen: I don’t know what your story is, but once you're strong enough to walk, you need to leave. I’m not the kind of person that plays nursemaid to recovering junkies.”

Mikasa swallowed, her mind racing. She couldn’t go back outside now—the Dok guards would no doubt still be looking for her. She needed to lay low for a few days, to stay under the radar, and here in this taciturn stranger’s home seemed like a great place to do that.

Which meant that she would have to somehow convince him not to kick her out.

“I don’t expect you to take care of me,” she said, “but could I stay here for a few days? I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important.” She hurried on once she saw his expression start to sour. “Please. I’m in trouble. If you send me out there now, I’ll be dead in a few hours.”

“You’re not my problem.” The man’s steel eyes were cold. “Why should I care what happens to you?”

Mikasa thought fast. “You already care,” she countered. “If you didn't, you wouldn’t have helped me in the first place.”

A muscle clenched in his jaw. “Tell me why,” he said finally. “Tell me why you’re in trouble, and I’ll consider it.”

She couldn’t tell him why—not the real reason, at least. He may have saved her life, but she had no idea who he really was. And as she'd learned long before all of this had begun,  _you never trust someone you do not know_. So, instead of being honest, Mikasa crafted a believable lie, one that contained bits and pieces of truth while steering clear of actual truth, just as she'd been conditioned to do.

“Very well.” She paused, purposely taking a breath for dramatic impact. “I was one of the Dok girls," she began, "gifted to them by a family in Karanese who owed them a favor. The Doks were the ones who gave me the heroin—they like their girls out of it when they have their fun.” Mikasa frowned. “Yesterday, my brother Eren found me. He’d been tracking me since the Karanese people picked me up six months ago, and he showed up at the Doks' headquarters and things went…” Her voice genuinely faltered as she thought of the green-eyed boy. “Things went wrong. The Doks killed him and in the confusion, I—I ran.”

The man was silent when she finished speaking, simply standing there watching her, but the distaste had faded from his eyes, replaced by something akin to interest. “So let me get this straight,” he finally said. “You managed to escape from the Doks’ brothel high on drugs after watching your brother get murdered?” The way he emphasized the name Dok made it clear he knew the family's reputation.

Mikasa fidgeted, then instantly regretted it as her leg throbbed. “Yes,” she said. “That’s more or less what happened.”

His brows rose slightly. “All right,” he said after a pause so long that Mikasa was sure he was going to tell her to go scratch. “You can stay here for a few days, just until the drugs are out of your system. Tomorrow I’ll show you where everything is, but for now, just stay put. I’ll stop in later to check your leg and give you some food. There’s water on the bedside table. Make sure you drink it.” He walked to the door, picking up the soiled trashcan on his way. “I’ll put a fresh bag in this,” he added. “If you need to vomit again, use it.” He glared at her over his shoulder. “If you make a mess anywhere else, I’ll throw your ass out on the street. Clear?”

Mikasa nodded, too relieved at being allowed to stay to care about the man’s peculiar rules. “Clear.” She watched him open the door. “Oh,” she called, “and, um…”

“Levi.”

She tried for a smile, hoping it didn’t look as fake as it felt. “Levi,” she said. “Thank you.”

A brusque grunt was her only reply, and then she was alone in the bare, too-clean room.

She wondered if she was really safer here than she would have been out on the street.

 

**

She was impossibly, hopelessly frustrating, and Levi was fairly certain that the story she’d told him was missing key parts (or was mostly bullshit), but there was something about her, something that he couldn’t quite define, that made him feel like maybe she was worth saving anyway.

With a sigh, he looked down at the pile of bloody clothes resting on his washing machine—the ones he'd told Mina he had thrown out. The jeans were designer and the shirt was gauzy and revealing, entirely inappropriate for anyone outside of one specific profession.

Granted, Mina had basically told him she was a sex slave, so the outfit really wasn’t surprising. The muscular frame he'd seen beneath the outfit, however, _had_ been a surprise. Prostitutes weren't usually built like athletes.

But the most surprising thing of all was that she was one of the Dok girls. There were only two families of note in the Sina Mafia: the Doks and the Zacklys. Mina was the property of one of them—or at least, she _had_ been up until yesterday, and as for him…

Well.

Levi wondered how Mina would react if she knew her savior worked for men who were just as bad – if not worse – than the people who had sold her into slavery.

 _She’d try to kill me,_ he thought, nearly sure of it.

It wasn’t how most brothel girls would react. The Zacklys had their own harem of stolen women that Levi had seen on more than one occasion, and regardless of age and race, they all had one thing in common: the look of defeat. Their eyes had lost whatever spark they once might’ve had, blurred and faded by years of drugs, mistreatment, and lost hope. Their bodies were usually wasted away too, but nothing was as bad as those hollow, hopeless eyes.

Mina wasn’t like that. He’d known it last night in the car, and she’d proven it again today. Despite the clothes and her story, she didn’t seem like a prostitute at all.

Which made Levi wonder what her real story was.

Scooping up her clothes with the very tips of his fingers to avoid getting any filth on his hands, he put the disgusting bundle in a garbage bag. Then he tied the bag, went outside, and loaded it into the trunk of his car. With any luck, he'd be able to deal with it soon; he really didn't want to be driving around with a bag full of bloody women's clothing in his car. But evidence was evidence, and he had his marching orders.

Levi closed the trunk, squinting as the sun glinted off the shattered pieces of his right rear view mirror and shined in his face like an obnoxious, blazing reminder of the previous night. _Fucking Dok pigs,_ he thought in anger. _Ruining my personal fucking property._

If he knew which of the meatheads was responsible, Levi would have fed them the broken shards of the mirror. With pleasure. Unfortunately, though, the shooter's identity remained a mystery. 

Feeling disgruntled about everything, Levi left his damaged vehicle for the time being and went back inside. He made sure his guns were still in their proper places, and then, since it was still relatively early, he put on a kettle of tea.

A second or two later, he added more water, thinking that maybe his strange house guest would like some too.

 _So much for getting out today,_  he thought wryly. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the initial support for this story, you guys! I haven't been tempted to delete it yet, so I'd say we're off to a good start.
> 
> See you next chapter! :)


	3. Out of the Frying Pan and into the Shit Show

She really was something.

One day after she’d been confined to her bed, vomiting up what seemed to be everything but her childhood memories, Mina had insisted that she was well enough to change her own bandages.

A day after that, she’d started walking, pacing the length of the spare bedroom until she could do three laps without limping.

By dinnertime the following day, she’d decided to attempt walking up and down the stairs. She gripped the banister the whole time and stumbled more than once, but she never gave up. Initially, Levi stayed at the bottom of the stairs to keep an eye on her, using the excuse that he didn’t want her to fall and break something and end up being an invalid in his apartment for the next six weeks, but in reality, he just assumed that he would need to intervene when she inevitably fell.

He needn’t have bothered.

Mina was weak from the drugs and her leg wound, but the girl was determined like no one else he knew. She kept at it long after anyone else would’ve thrown in the towel, and, although she lost her footing a few times, she never fell. Eventually, Levi decided that she’d probably been right all along: she _was_ fine on her own.

The next morning, he didn’t bother supervising her at all as she started her exercises, although he did note with some astonishment that she was now able to walk up and down the steps at a reasonable pace without holding the banister. Go figure.

He left her alone in the afternoon when Darius called him in, and, as always, his employer kept him busy much longer than he’d promised. By the time Levi got into his car and drove home, it was dark.

In all likelihood, he figured that Mina was probably already asleep, but Levi changed his shirt anyway, not wanting to incur questions on the off chance that she was still awake. He frowned down at the blood splattered on his white button-up, then balled it up and stuck it next to the trash bag full of Mina’s old clothes in the trunk. He’d work the stains out later, when he was sure he was alone.

With sluggish steps, Levi walked up to his apartment and unlocked the front door, already reflexively reaching for the light switch. To his immense surprise, though, the lights were already on and he could hear sounds coming from the kitchen. He checked his watch again. _23:12,_ the digital display boasted. Mystified, Levi walked over to the kitchen, then stood there staring in disbelief.

“You’re cooking?” He said, stating the obvious like an idiot simply because he was so baffled at seeing Mina there, cooking in his kitchen like it was the most natural activity in the world.

The dark-haired girl turned, offering him a small smile. “You had fresh groceries. It would have been a shame to let them go to waste.”

“It's a little late for dinner,” he replied.

“Have you eaten yet?” She asked, cocking her head slightly.

"No," he admitted.

Her smile returned. "Then it's not too late for dinner." She turned her attention back to what she was doing. "Besides, I slept through most of the evening, so it doesn't feel that late to me."

Levi shrugged. "Fair enough," he mumbled.

Mina had showered—recently, judging by the fact that her hair was still damp and that she'd changed out of the sweatpants and t-shirt he’d lent her, trading that ensemble in for a pair of his boxers and one of his old button-up shirts that she must have found in the upstairs hall closet. She’d rolled the sleeves up to her elbows, but Levi could still tell the shirt was too small for her by the way it didn’t quite reach her hips. There was a teasing inch of skin peeking out between the bottom hem of the shirt and the waistband of the boxers.

Levi cleared his throat and nodded towards the pan on the stove, moving his gaze to a safer place. “What are you making?” He asked.

“Lemon chicken with asparagus.”

Levi leaned against the kitchen wall, watching her work and pondering who had taught her to cook, and when. She moved with an easy confidence—chopping, seasoning, and minding the stove with the practiced ease of someone who had spent a good amount of time in the kitchen before.

“You could help, you know,” she said a few minutes later without turning to look at him. “Instead of standing there watching me.”

Levi opened his mouth to deny it, then thought better of it. She was right, after all; he _had_ been watching her.

Wordlessly, he picked up a knife and helped her finish trimming the asparagus, and then cleaned up the counter as Mina continued to watch the stove.

It was strange, doing something like this after he’d spent the afternoon with his knuckles embedded in someone’s cheekbones.

_Don’t pull your punches, Levi; I want Ivan to know how much he hurt me when he failed to make good on his loan._

“Are you all right?”

Mina was holding two plates of food and looking at him with innocent-enough curiosity, but Levi caught the way her gaze dropped to the table where his hand was holding the cleaning rag. He quickly wiped down the rest of the table and tossed the rag in the sink. “Fine,” he replied. “Just had a long day.”

Mina put the plates down on the table without prompting and took a seat, still regarding him in a way that Levi wasn’t entirely comfortable with. Those large dark eyes of hers seemed to know more than they should, and they’d certainly seemed to linger on his cracked knuckles two seconds too long.

_You’re being paranoid. She’s just some used-up girl; she doesn’t know shit._

Mina gave him another one of her small smiles as he poured two glasses of water and carried them over to the table, and Levi immediately felt like an asshole. _She’s not just some used-up girl,_ he chastised himself. _She’s a fucking person—more of a person than your sorry ass._

He sat down opposite her, staring guiltily at the table. “Thanks,” he said. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“I know,” Mina replied. She’d already started eating, and she spoke between bites. “It was relaxing for me, though. I wanted to do something… _normal,_ for a change. I wanted to get out of my head for a while.”

Levi glanced up at her. “Yeah,” he replied. “I know how that feels.”

They ate in silence after that, but, to Levi’s surprise, it wasn’t an awkward one. Mina seemed content to skip the small talk and just eat in peace, which suited Levi just fine. It had been a long time since he’d shared a meal with anyone (let alone had someone cook for him), and he wouldn’t have known what to say anyway.

It was only later, while they were cleaning up, that Mina broke the silence.

“How did you rough up your hand?” She asked as she finished washing one of the plates and handed it to him to dry.

Levi frowned as he took the plate from her. So she _had_ noticed.

“Training,” he lied easily. “I work at an MMA gym and occasionally we do some bare-fisted fighting.”

Mina raised a brow. “Really? I thought safety gear was a must.”

“Usually it is, but some clients want to know how they’d fare in a street fight. I’m one of the trainers willing to show them the answer.”

Mina nodded thoughtfully. “Practical application is always important,” she commented. She was leaning heavily against the kitchen sink—more heavily than she had been earlier. “Simulations can only teach you so much.”

It was an observation that should have made Levi ask a few follow-up questions, but he was too focused on the sudden weakness in Mina’s posture to dwell on it. “Are you all right?” He asked, genuinely concerned.

“Yes. Just tired.” Mina snapped off the yellow latex gloves she’d been wearing and laid them over the faucet. “I should probably get some sleep.”

She brushed by him, trying and failing to hide the slight limp in her step as she walked out of the kitchen.

Frowning, Levi followed her, trailing a few paces behind her as she headed to the stairs.

It turned out to be a good decision.

Four or so steps up, Mina gave a strained gasp and stumbled, her left leg giving out.

Levi reacted instinctively, leaping up behind her and catching her under the arms before she could collapse. Then he took her left arm, wrapped it around his shoulders without asking, and helped her up to standing, taking some of her weight. “C’mon,” he said. “I’ll help you get upstairs.”

“I don’t need—”

“Yeah, you do. Don’t argue. Just grab the banister and walk.”

Thankfully, she accepted his help, and they started moving up the stairs. Progress was slow, and judging by the grimace on her face, Levi knew that Mina must have been in a good amount of pain, but she didn’t say a word. She simply hopped up one step at a time until they reached the top landing.

Which was when Levi saw the blood seeping through the bandages on her thigh.

“Shit,” he cursed. No wonder she was in pain. “You tore your stitches.”

After a second of deliberation, Levi helped her into the bathroom and eased her down onto the tiled floor. “Sit,” he said. “I’ll go get the first aid kit.”

When he returned, Mina was untying her bloody bandages, her lips pressed together tightly as she worked at the bindings.

Levi knelt down beside her. “May I?” He asked, hesitant to touch her. She was conscious this time around, so it seemed like he ought to get some kind of verbal permission.

Mina nodded. “Go ahead.”

He reached out and adjusted her leg, then finished undoing the bandages, revealing the damage beneath. She’d torn two of the five stitches, but luckily there was no sign of infection.

Levi retrieved the necessary tools from the first aid kit and glanced up at her. “Do you want something for the pain? Because this will hurt and I need you to stay still.”

Mina blinked at him. “I can handle the pain,” she replied simply, and then she leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes.

Levi didn’t ask her again. He’d only known her for a few days, but even that brevity of acquaintance was enough to convince him that her resilience wasn’t a ruse; she was strong, in more ways than one.

Which she now proved again.

She didn’t whimper or cry or curse as he removed her ruined stitches, and even when he fed the needle through her skin to insert the fresh ones, the only hint that she was in pain came from the involuntary tensing of her quad muscles beneath his hands. Once he’d closed up the new stitches, he cleaned away the blood, dressed the wound with a generous slather of antibiotic ointment, and then re-bandaged everything, his hands lingering just a fraction too long on the milky paleness of her thigh when he finished.

Once he realized what he was doing, Levi immediately jerked his hand away and cleared his throat. “That's it," he murmured. "Hopefully they’ll stay in this time.”

When Mina didn’t reply, Levi looked up at her, and then his eyes widened in surprise.

The girl was asleep. She’d fucking fallen _asleep_ while he’d been stitching her up.

Hot fucking damn.

Apparently she really _could_ handle her pain.

Levi rocked back on his heels, regarding her. _Who are you, Mina?_ He wondered. _Who are you really?_  

Still lost in his thoughts, Levi packed up the first aid kit and put it away, then gently scooped Mina up in his arms. She sighed softly as he carried her into the spare bedroom, turning her face into his neck until Levi could feel the soft, warm tickle of her breath on his skin.

As quickly as he could, he put her down on the bed and drew the duvet over her, averting his eyes from her slender figure as much as he could. He’d seen her nearly naked before, true, and yet somehow the sight of her wearing his clothes, his _boxers_ , was more of a turn on than seeing her in the skimpy, lacy lingerie she'd had on before. Now she seemed less like a sex object and more like a woman.

A beautiful, strong woman who was currently asleep in his apartment.

Levi had never, ever felt an attraction towards any of the Zackly girls, and he’d refused Darius’ offer of choosing one to keep him company on more than one occasion. He also rarely felt any kind of pull towards free, available women, despite the fact that they seemed to throw themselves at him on a fairly regular basis.

And now here he was, blushing like an imbecile over a Dok girl he’d saved, drawn to her like a moth to a fucking flame because she seemed _different_ than all the other women he'd interacted with in recent memory. How fucking pathetic.

_Get a grip._

In the end, he settled for getting a drink, pouring himself a generous helping of scotch from his liquor cabinet.

He was far from happy, but as he polished off his first drink and poured himself a second, Levi realized that, for the first time in months, he’d gone an entire day without thinking about getting out. And it wasn’t just that he hadn’t thought about it; he’d spent his time thinking about Mina instead, worrying over her recovery and wondering about her past.

It was almost like he’d started to care about something again, like he was remembering what it felt like to have a life outside of the Mafia and its shit. Like he was remembering what it was like to be a good person.

God, what a joke.

If there was such a thing as a quote unquote _good_ person, he was about as far from it as anyone could possibly be, and caring about a girl who would probably be dead or sold back into slavery in a few months wasn't going to change that. Nothing could change what he was, what he'd become.

With a brittle laugh, Levi raised the glass to his lips and tossed back his second helping of scotch, welcoming the burn.

 

**

When Mikasa woke up, the sun was shining brightly through the bedroom window, filling the room with light. Stretching, she sat up in bed and threw the covers off, then stood up, experimentally putting weight on her left leg.

It hurt, but not like it had the previous night, and there was no new fresh blood visible through her bandages. Her nausea was almost gone too, which was an added bonus; she’d expected her withdrawal symptoms to last longer.

There was a full glass of water on the bedside table just like there had been each day since she'd first woken up in Levi's apartment, but this time there was a note resting under it, which Mikasa read while she drank the water.

_Went to work. Left first aid kit on kitchen counter if you need it. Leftover food in fridge._

Mikasa ran a finger over the spiky pencil marks, smiling to herself. Levi was certainly a strange, reserved man – troubled, even – but he seemed like a decent sort. He’d gone out of his way to help her over the past few days, and even though he knew what she was, he’d been a perfect (albeit somewhat vulgar) gentleman.

However, she couldn’t take advantage of his hospitality forever; she had responsibilities, and with Eren gone…

The thought died midway through, her mind unable to skip past that terrible truth.

Eren was dead, murdered, and Mikasa wasn’t even sure what had gone wrong. They’d been so careful, so meticulous in cultivating their respective roles over the past six months that the events of the previous week were almost unbelievable. What had happened? What had been the catalyst?

She couldn’t even guess at the answers, but she knew someone who might.

She needed to contact Erwin. It was time.

After she’d brushed her teeth and checked her stitches, Mikasa began to wander around Levi’s apartment, looking for something she could use.

Like most people, Levi didn’t have a landline, and her search for a cellphone was unfruitful. Granted, if he did have a cell, he’d probably taken it with him to work, so the fact that she didn’t find one lying around the apartment wasn’t surprising.

What was surprising was that she didn’t find any kind of other electronic devices: no TVs, no computers, no laptops, no tablets—nothing. It was the most technologically bare apartment she’d ever seen.

Frustrated, Mikasa eventually found herself at Levi’s bedroom door. It was the only room in the apartment that he’d requested she not enter, and up until now, she’d respected his request.

But she needed to contact Erwin, and short of taking the risk of going outside and finding a means of contact that way, Levi’s room was her only other option.

She turned the knob.

_Locked._

It was a modern lock, however, and those were much more easily dealt with than older models. It took Mikasa less than two minutes to find something slender enough to fit it (a paperclip) and pop the lock.

Feeling slightly guilty at intruding, Mikasa opened the door.

Levi's bedroom was much like his spare bedroom—sparsely furnished, ridiculously clean, and devoid of any color that wasn’t neutral. There was, however, one piece of art on the wall above his bed, a muted watercolor of a place she didn't recognize but still somehow managed to make her feel nostalgic.

She shook her head. _Focus,_ she willed herself. She was here to search, not to stare at paintings. Forcing herself to get back on task, she walked over to the dresser and began opening drawers, not really expecting to find anything.

But she did.

In the second drawer from the bottom, she found a loaded handgun – a Glock – and in the bottom drawer, she found two more guns, also loaded: a Dan Wesson Specialist and a sawed-off, double-barrel shotgun.

The presence of the guns could be explained away easily enough, especially given the fact that Sina was a breeding ground for violent gang activity, but the suppressor Mikasa saw resting next to the Dan Wesson was more troubling. There were only certain types of people that used suppressors, and nearly all of them were killers.

Still, Mikasa wanted to give Levi the benefit of the doubt.

And she could have, if she hadn’t opened the drawer of his bedside table. Inside, there were only two things: a karambit knife and a black logbook.

Moving the knife aside, Mikasa picked up the logbook. Its weight felt ominous in her hand, as though something were intuitively warning her that whatever she found inside would be damning.

She opened it anyway, needing to know.

She began to flip through the pages, skimming Levi’s distinctive handwriting for important details, squinting at times to make out the tiny additions scrawled in the side margins.

She'd gotten maybe five or six pages in when two names caught her eye.

_Nile. Darius._

Mikasa froze, rereading the brief entry.

_\- Nile and Darius: meeting at Pixis’ Place – gentlemen's club on E 72nd. Monday, October 4th. 2100 hours._

Feeling sick, Mikasa turned more pages, her stomach sinking a little further each time she discovered a similar entry.

And there were a _lot_ of entries, enough to make her realize that—

“Mina?”

Mikasa dropped the logbook and whirled around, instinctively grabbing the knife from the drawer. She wasn’t as comfortable using karambits as she was using other types of knives, but she’d manage.

She shifted into a defensive stance, readying herself for a confrontation as Levi looked from her to the logbook and back. He didn't say anything, but Mikasa could tell that he was well aware of what she'd discovered by the look in his eyes.

“You work for the Doks, don’t you?” She accused, her voice shaking with anger. “Did they put you up to this? Did you know about me before that night in the alley?" It was just a guess, but if Levi was working for the Sina Mafia, it was more than possible he'd heard about her and Eren. "Was this some kind of sick setup? Some kind of game?”

Levi raised his hands, edging around the bed towards her. “Mina—”

“Don’t move,” she hissed.

He stopped.

“Answer me,” she demanded.

Levi’s face was expressionless, his steel eyes unreadable. “It wasn’t a setup,” he finally said. “And I don’t work for the Doks.”

“Then why—?”

“I work for the Zacklys.”

Mikasa’s breath caught in her throat. As bad as the Doks were, she knew that the Zacklys had a reputation for being far worse. Even Nile – the vilest man she knew – was afraid of them.

She thought of Eren, of all the work they'd done over the past months, of all the painstaking evidence they'd accrued in order to take down men like the Doks, men like the Zacklays.

_Men like Levi._

Mikasa's grip on the knife tightened as her anger reached its boiling point. “Wrong answer,” she said, and then she lunged at him.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gotta love cliffhangers, right?
> 
> Also, I apologize if this chapter seems unpolished. I did go through and edit it, but I've been distracted all day and consequently, I'm not sure how great a job I did. Next chapter will (hopefully) be better.


	4. Hit Me, Baby, One More Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kudos and comments last chapter!!! You guys rock!! I promise I will be better about replying to them this time around :) 
> 
> Also, without giving too much away, let me warn you that this chapter is violent and deals with some really heavy themes.  
> Reader discretion is advised.

She came at him much faster than he’d anticipated, and Levi barely jumped back far enough to evade the slash of the knife. He reacted more quickly the next time, stopping her strike with his forearm and then ducking as she brought the blade flashing through the air by his head.

The next few minutes were a blur of strikes and blocks, and Levi found himself on the defensive nearly the whole time. Mina was so fast and agile that it took an incredible amount of speed just to keep up with her, and she feinted often enough that Levi found it difficult to predict what her next move would be.

She was, without a doubt, a trained fighter—and a bloody good one, at that.

Somewhere around minute three of their skirmish, Levi managed to land a palm strike, smacking her in the chest with enough impact to knock her back a few paces. Her left thigh twitched as she regained her balance, giving Levi an idea.

“Put the knife down, Mina,” he said, his hands still raised defensively as they began to circle one another.

“I don’t think so,” she said, and then, without any kind of preamble, she charged him again, raising his knife over her head. She’d moved too fast for him to successfully retreat, so instead Levi relied on brute strength, reaching out and grabbing her arm as it sailed towards him. The blade stopped inches from his face, but Mina was still pressing forward, using her bodyweight to add power to her movement.

Grimacing at what he was about to do but not seeing any other obvious options, Levi kneed her in the thigh—right where her bandages were.

Mina instantly cried out in pain, and Levi disarmed her before she could recover, then twirled her around and drew her back against his chest, bending her arm between them and pinning her left arm to her side. She squirmed in his grasp but Levi held her still. “Stop fighting me,” he ground out through his teeth.

For a brief moment he thought she’d listened because she relaxed against him, but it was just a ruse.

And it worked.

Just as Levi began to loosen his grip, Mina went on the offensive, jamming her left elbow into his ribs and sinking down into a crouch as he gasped for breath. Then she planted her right knee on the floor, leaned forward even more, and used his body weight and momentum against him, flipping him over her head. Levi landed on his back with an audible thud, and then lay there for a suspended moment, shocked.

But he’d never been one to stay down for long. Recovering quickly, he rolled over into a crouch—just as Mina drove a foot towards his face.

 _Bad move,_ Levi thought as he rolled out of striking distance and then countered – still maintaining his crouch – with two powerful punches to Mina’s injured leg.

Mina shrieked in pain and lost her balance, and Levi sprang to his feet, lunging towards his dresser.

By the time she recovered, Levi had his Glock in hand, the barrel aimed straight at her heart.

“Stop right there,” he ordered.

She did, her eyes full of hatred.

Levi’s hands were steady, but he was breathing hard. Mina was too, her chest heaving with every breath, and Levi could see fresh blood staining the bandages on her thigh. But she didn’t look beaten or afraid; she just looked pissed.

Levi shook his head. “Where the _fuck_ did you learn to fight like that?” He asked, completely bewildered.

Mina’s expression didn’t change. “I could ask you the same thing.” She raised her chin, staring at him with defiance. “If you’re going to kill me, get it over with.”

“I’m not going to kill you.”

“Oh? And why is that?” She asked coldly. “You’ve obviously killed before.”

Levi clenched his jaw. “Yes,” he admitted, “but it’s not what you think. I do work for the Zacklys, but I have nothing to do with their business dealings. I’m just a driver.”

“You have a lot of weapons for a chauffeur,” came the dry reply.

_Even at gunpoint, she has an attitude._

Truth be told, he wasn’t all that surprised, especially considering the beat down she'd just given him. “I’m a driver who also acts as a bodyguard when the need arises,” he amended. “But I am not some common thug.” _Those days are long over._

Mina narrowed her eyes. “If that’s true, then put the gun down.”

Levi pressed his lips together. If he did as she asked, there was a very good chance she’d attack him again or try to get the gun herself, but if he didn’t, they’d likely be stuck in this circular conversation forever, and he simply didn’t have the patience for a standoff.

“Fine.” He put the safety on and slowly lowered the gun to the floor. Then he kicked it behind him, away from both of them. “Better?”

“No.” Mina limped towards him. She stopped when she was directly in front of him, then reached up and slapped him across the face. “ _Now_ it’s better.”

It apparently _wasn’t_ better, though, because she shoved him back and then slapped him again, her palm leaving a stinging handprint on his cheek. She made to hit him a third time, but Levi grabbed her wrist and spun her around, pressing her into the wall. “Oi,” he growled. “Knock it off.” He tightened his grip in warning and then released her, gesturing towards her bleeding leg. “We need to fix your stitches again.”

Mina looked at him like he was crazy. “Are you serious?”

“Obviously,” Levi answered, exasperated. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look. I know you’re upset, and I get it; I lied to you about who I was.” He gave her a pointed look. “But I _did_ save you, and right now I don’t want you bleeding all over my floor. I’ll answer your questions and then you can stay or leave – your choice – but first, the stitches.”

Mina pursed her lips, and Levi had a feeling she was deciding whether to accept his proverbial white flag or slap him around some more.

Luckily for his face, she chose the former option.

“Fine,” she said. “But this time I do want something for the pain.”

“Advil? Tylenol? Vicodin?”

“Scotch. Neat.” She turned and hobbled to the door, throwing it open with so much force that it hit the wall. “And make it a double,” she added.

 

**

Four hours and half a bottle of scotch later, Mikasa finally decided she was ready to get some answers.

Rising to her feet, she slowly shuffled over to the door and peered out into the hallway. There was no sign of Levi, but she wasn’t surprised; ever since she’d retreated into the spare bedroom after Levi had finished with her stitches, the apartment had been silent.

Going down the stairs was much more painful than it had been the previous day, although the numbing effect of too much liquor did help. She took a few more swigs on the way down, and then toddled over to the kitchen, coming to a standstill in the doorway.

Apparently, Levi had spent the last few hours the same way she had spent hers. He was sitting at the kitchen table, a bottle of whiskey and a nearly empty tumbler in front of him.

He raised his head slightly at her entrance, his gaze flickering to her once again newly bandaged thigh. “Sorry about that,” he mumbled.

Mikasa sat down opposite him, sliding heavily into the chair and placing the scotch on the table.

Levi raised a brow. “Where’s the glass?”

“Upstairs. I got tired of refilling it.”

He chuckled dryly and shook his head, then placed his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “I’m surprised you’re still here,” he said.

“Believe me, if I wasn’t worried about my safety outside of this apartment, I would have left.”

Levi frowned. “Do you really think the Dok guards are still looking for you? It’s been days.”

“I don’t _think_ they are,” she answered emphatically. “I _know_ they are.”

“Huh.” Levi unscrewed the cap on the whiskey bottle and freshened his drink. “Seems like a lot of trouble to go through over one missing brothel girl.”

Mikasa shifted uneasily. He was right, of course. If she were just a brothel girl, it wouldn’t make sense for the Doks to continue looking for her. She’d just be another nameless, homeless whore, not worth the energy of recapturing.

But, of course, she wasn’t just a brothel girl.

She wondered how close Levi was to figuring that out, or if he’d already reached that conclusion.

“Maybe,” she replied vaguely. She straightened up in her chair. “Then again," she added slyly, "you don’t know how good I was. Maybe it’s not so surprising that the Doks want me back.”

The silence that followed that statement was loaded, as was the assessing look Levi gave her before he downed the rest of his whiskey.

Mikasa couldn’t even believe she’d said something with such blatant innuendo—the liquor must have loosened her tongue.

But the thrill that shot down her spine when Levi’s eyes darkened at the comment…

She cleared her throat lightly. “So,” she said, shifting the topic of conversation. “You work for the Zacklys.”

Levi’s lips tightened almost imperceptibly. “Yes.”

“Prove it.”

He’d been moving to pour himself another drink, but he froze at her request. “Excuse me?”

“Prove it,” Mikasa repeated. “You lied to me about who you were before, so for all I know you’re lying again.”

Levi placed the bottle back down on the table. “Why would I lie and tell you I worked for people you hate? That doesn’t make any sense.”

“It would make sense if in reality you work for the Doks.”

“I don’t,” he said firmly, but when she didn’t reply, he pushed his chair back. “Fine,” he relented, standing up. His fingers began undoing the buttons of his shirt. “You want proof?” He pulled the top half of his shirt apart, exposing his chest. “Here.”

Mikasa stared, wide-eyed, at what he’d revealed.

There was no doubt about it now: he was _definitely_ who he said he was.

There were many kinds of tattoos in the world, but the ones marking Levi’s skin were unmistakable. Eight-sided stars adorned both sides of his chest—marks of prominent respect, and in the center of his rib cage was a cross with an ornate Z in its center—a clear sign of allegiance to one prominent family in the Sina Mafia.

“Satisfied?”

She should have been, but suddenly she needed to see the rest of them, to see how Levi’s tattoos compared to the inked backs and chests of the Dok men who had used her.

She stood up. “I want to see the rest,” she said.

He didn’t look happy about it, but Levi obliged her, slipping his shirt from his shoulders and letting it pool on the floor.

Mikasa’s breath caught in her throat. His muscular body held more tattoos than she could count, all of them stark and black, all of them homages to chapters of his life—a veritable biography inked across his skin.

She knew what some of them meant: the spider on his left side was the mark of a thief; the snarling tiger on his right hip was a sign of hatred towards authority; the skull – which had been inked with a cigar clenched between its teeth – meant that he’d murdered; and the massive cathedral on his back with two cupolas rising from it represented two prison sentences. Mikasa didn’t know what the snake winding up his left arm meant, or the meaning of the half-dagger on his inner right forearm. She knew what the heavy-handed _memento mori_ scrawled across his neck translated to (and also why she’d never seen him wear anything without a collar), but the words above his heart were written in a language she didn’t recognize.

“You earned all of these?” She asked quietly, once she’d mastered her shock and regained the use of her voice.

Levi held her gaze. “Every single one,” he answered.

Fueled as much by her own strange desire as by the liquor, Mikasa reached out and trailed her fingers down the length of the cross on his ribs, letting them linger on the Z at the crux of it. Levi flinched beneath her touch, but Mikasa didn’t retract her hand.

“So why,” she asked softly, “would someone like you ever help someone like me?”

The flash of something _(hurt?)_ in his eyes was gone too quickly for Mikasa to define it. “Because you needed help, and I was in a position to offer it.”

“But you work for the Zacklys. You see girls like me all the time.”

He pulled back from her touch. “Not being gunned down.”

“Still,” Mikasa argued. “You know how girls like me are treated. What we’re _kept_ for.”

At least he had the decency to look mildly guilty. “Yes,” he said slowly. “I know.”

“Have you used girls like me?”

His answer was immediate and decisive. “No.”

Mikasa’s throat tightened. “But you’ve seen others do it," she guessed. "You’ve _let_ others do it.”

He didn’t deny it. “Yes, I have.” He lowered his voice. “It’s not my place to question the Zacklys on their choices. I’m just a driver.”

Mikasa thought of all the girls she’d been housed with over the past few months. The youngest, Lydia, was barely eighteen. She’d laughed so much, so easily, before the night Nile’s oldest son had broken her in, and then Mikasa had never heard her laugh again. And the others—Nadia, Sabine, Lila...they’d all shared their stories with her, had all spoken of what life would be like if they could just escape. They had all pretended, when they’d had days to themselves, that maybe, someday, their lives would be different. Sabine had overdosed shortly after one of those wishful days, and Nile had told two of his men to dump her body in the river. _She’s just some no-name cumbucket,_ he’d said. _The police won’t care. No one will.  
_

Mikasa’s anger built like a cold storm inside of her at the injustice of it all. “You’re not just a driver,” she said, finding an easy target in the man standing before her. “You’re responsible.” She shoved him into his chair, acting without thinking. “Do you think the fact that you haven’t raped a girl makes you better than them?” She asked. Her fingers found his belt buckle and yanked. “It doesn’t.”

“Mina, what are you—?”

“Shut up.” With jerky motions, she undid his buckle and slipped the belt through the loops of his pants. “You're no different than any of them, and I can prove it.” Her voice was shaking, but her hands were steady as she undid the button-fly closure and reached inside his pants. Without so much as a split-second hesitation, she slipped her hand into his boxers, wrapped her hand around him, and squeezed. “See?” She taunted as she began to stroke him, feeling his shaft start to throb in her hand. “You’re just like them.”

_Oh, fuck, Mina, your pussy’s so fucking good…_

Nile, his son, his guards…they were all the same, and Levi was no different. He was a killer, a monster, and Mikasa could see nothing but red as she stroked him faster, the trauma of the last six months blinding her to what she was doing.

Until Levi’s hand latched onto her wrist. “Mina,” he growled, his voice impossibly strained.

Mikasa paused her motions, staring at him, and then she leaned forward, bringing her lips to his ear. “Are you going to tell me to stop?” She whispered, her lips brushing his skin. “Are you going to show me how different you are?” She punctuated the question with a drag of her nail up his cock.

The strangled groan and the dribble of precum on her fingers that she got in response made her ache, and it also made her angrier.

“Fuck,” Levi gasped. “You…oh, _fuck_.”

Mikasa pulled back enough to see his face. “That’s what I thought,” she said, and then she pulled her hand out of his pants.

She was still wearing his boxers, and she slipped them off with ease before Levi could say a word, and than she straddled him, fishing his cock from his pants as she did so. She looked down at him, vulnerable before her, and she arched a brow at him in challenge. “Do you want this?” She asked, daring him to deny it.

His eyes were a warring tide of things she didn’t want to see. “Do you?” He asked finally, his voice gentler than it had any right to be.

Mikasa slapped him, the concern she could see in his eyes and hear in his voice making her angrier than anything else. “Stop me if you want, but don't speak. You don’t get to ask the questions,” she said as she angled him towards her and slowly began to sink down on him. “You don’t get to do anything,” she concluded, gasping in pain, her hands reflexively landing on his chest to help her balance.

The pleasure that darkened Levi's eyes was tempered by more concern as he gauged her discomfort. "Mina—"

"No." She didn't know what he was going to say, and she didn't want to know. "Just be quiet. I don't want your words."

God, how it _hurt._ He was thick and she wasn’t wet enough to accommodate him easily, but Mikasa worked him inside of her anyway because she didn’t care. It wasn’t about pleasure; it was about domination, about retribution. Levi, covered in the black brands of the Mafia, represented all of the men who had used her and raped her and taken from her, and when Mikasa finally managed to get him fully inside of her, she felt like it was a small victory over all of them. It may have hurt, but she’d chosen this man; she’d decided to have him.

_And he let me._

With a sound that was part-whimper, part-growl, Mikasa began to rock against him, faster than she should have, chasing the pain like other people would’ve chased pleasure. She lost herself to the raw act of sex, drowning in the physicality of it, letting herself stay in the moment in a way she’d never done in her time at the Doks' whorehouse. Detachment had been her savior there, but here and now, impaling herself on the cock of a man who embodied everything she hated but who had paradoxically shown her kindness, she _wanted_ to feel.

Inevitably, the pain began to wane as she adjusted to him, and the wetter she got, the better it began to feel. The drag of her nipples on his tattooed chest with every motion began to work her up, as did the sound of Levi’s muffled groans.

She dug her nails into his skin as she moved faster, relishing the way his muscles jumped beneath her touch, and it seemed to set Levi off, too, because he started thrusting up into her, pushing himself just that much deeper inside of her.

He reached out, his hands coming to rest on her hips for leverage, but Mikasa wrenched them away, ignoring the part of herself that liked the possessive way his fingers had splayed out across the exposed expanse of her skin. “No,” she panted. “I’m… _I’m_ in control.”

She closed her eyes and kept moving, repeating that to herself over and over again like a mantra as she felt him swell within her.

And then Levi's strokes became frantic, furious, and with a violent swear, he came inside of her. He respected her earlier request, though, gripping the arms of the chair instead of her body as he rode out his orgasm.

When his spent cock slipped out of her as she stood up a few heartbeats later, Mikasa whimpered. She was so close to the edge that she could taste it, and for the first time since she’d sunk down on him, she looked into his eyes.

Levi must have seen something there – need, probably – because suddenly he was hoisting her up onto the table and moving between her legs. Mikasa leaned back on her elbows as she felt his tongue on her, _inside_ of her, her eyes fluttering shut and her fingers winding instinctively into his hair to pull him closer.

She didn’t want this—or at least, she didn’t want to enjoy this, but it felt incredible, better than the pain had felt, better than anything had felt in a long time. She wondered if Levi could taste himself on her, and then she didn’t wonder anything at all because she was shaking, coming, unraveling, her body spasming with the force of her release.

Time slowed down, her heartbeat stuttering for a spinning minute with no accompaniment save for the sound of blood rushing in her ears.

And then it was over.

Mikasa sat up, her anger and pleasure fading as she became all too aware of the reality of the moment...and of what she'd just done.

Levi was kneeling on the floor before her, his face covered in her wetness, his cheek still red from the last slap she’d given him.

“Mina…”

Mikasa stood up, ignoring the way her legs wobbled unsteadily as her feet found the floor. “Don’t call me that,” she said, and then she picked up the discarded boxers she’d been wearing, staggered past him, and limped upstairs without another word.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...yeah. 
> 
> I'll be honest- part of me still has a hard time believing that I wrote this. Booze and repressed feelings definitely fueled the angst of this chapter. Going forward, I promise that not all of the smutty scenes will be this dark.
> 
> Side note: Levi's tattoos are based on Russian prison and mafia tattoos. In that culture, you only get tattoos if you've 'earned' them (as Mikasa mentioned in this chapter). Tattoos are a status symbol, and a way for other prisoners to gauge how dangerous someone is and what they've done in their lifetime. These tattoos are taken seriously, and people who have 'fake' tattoos (i.e., didn't earn them), usually get punished for it/ have their tattoos forcibly removed. To get an idea of the look we're talking about, here are two pics to check out:  
> https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/0b/52/c8/0b52c8692a1f9cf070a94c43c1f60832.jpg  
> https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/60/87/4d/60874da206a866e252b7593ea4a4d70a.jpg


	5. Extracurricular Activities

When Mikasa woke up the next morning, she paradoxically felt the best and worst she had in days. Physically she was a mess: her head and left leg were both throbbing dully and her thigh was swollen, purple bruises already forming beneath and around the bandages, and when she walked to the bathroom she realized that she was incredibly sore inside, too, each step making her wince.

But mentally she felt sharp and clear and fueled with determination, as though, somehow, fighting and fucking the Zackly’s driver had knocked some purpose back into her.

And for the first time since she’d run from the Doks, Mikasa realized that all hope wasn’t lost. There was another way to complete what she and Eren had started all those months ago, and Levi was her ticket to accomplishing it.

It took her a while to get ready and even longer to find some cash, but eventually she was wearing what she hoped was a believable disguise (blended spices weren’t exactly the equivalent of a makeup kit and Levi’s wardrobe didn’t have much in the way of variety), and, after she’d scoured every nook and cranny of Levi’s apartment, she found cash in the last place she’d thought to look: laying in plain sight on the kitchen counter.

The folded bills were resting next to a glass of water and two Advil, and just like the previous morning, there was a note beneath the water glass.

Mystified, Mikasa picked it up.

_The money is yours. If you want to leave, go; I promise I will not come looking for you._

Mikasa curled the note up in her hand, pondering it as she took the Advil and downed the water. It was a kind, if confusing gesture, much like everything else about Levi. He was a killer and yet he’d shown her mercy. He worked for the Zacklys, but he’d helped a Dok whore. He was exactly what he claimed to be, and yet…

A memory of his head between her legs appeared in Mikasa’s mind, followed by the expression on his face after she’d come. _“Mina…”_

Mikasa pressed her lips together and put her used water glass in the sink. She didn’t have the time or inclination to worry about the glimpse of the driver's softer, more vulnerable side that she’d seen last night. He was a pawn in her game, and that was all.

Pocketing the money he’d left, Mikasa tucked her hair up into the baseball cap, zipped up the hoodie, and headed outside.

 

**

Levi was out of cigarettes, which had been a mild annoyance earlier but had now evolved into a massive fucking aggravation. He loathed Tuesdays—the one day a week he had to babysit Darius’ imbecilic oldest son. The twenty-four-year-old heir-apparent had the overblown ego that came with the family name and all the intelligence and grace of a cow. Vincent Zackly, in Levi’s gracious opinion, was an evil son of a bitch and a complete waste of oxygen.

Darius Zackly might have been an evil son of a bitch, too, but at least the man was clever.

An hour after Levi had dropped Vincent off, the kid came staggering out of the strip club, a bottle of wine clutched in one hand and his other arm draped lazily around some big-breasted dancer. He pushed her away when he spotted Levi and came hobbling over, a boozy grin plastered on his face. “Levi!” He chirped as Levi opened the door of the black sedan and ushered him inside. “You missed all the fun!”

“I’m sure I did,” Levi replied dryly as he shut the kid’s door and climbed back into the driver’s seat. When he pulled out into traffic and looked in the rear view, he saw Vincent polishing off the wine, already half-slumped across the seat.

“Hey, stop at Pixis’ Place on the way home,” Vincent requested. “I’m hungry.”

Levi turned his attention back to the road. “You have a meeting tonight with your father and a few of his friends. We don’t have time to make a detour.”

Vincent kicked Levi’s seat. “Fuck that!” He burped. “I hate those prunes. They’re old and boring as fuck.”

“Maybe, but those prunes will be your business associates one day. It would be wise to make a good impression.”

Vincent waved a dismissive hand and sat up. “Yeah, yeah...you worry too much, Levi. Still make the stop. That’s an order.”

Levi’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. “As you wish.”

He drove well above the speed limit after they’d left Pixis' Place, mostly because Darius had told him to make sure that Vincent was home an hour before their guests arrived and Levi didn’t want to be blamed for Vincent’s tardiness.

Vincent’s sobriety level, however, was harder to control.

Darius took one look at his son when he came swaggering into the family's spacious city brownstone and slapped him across the face.

The startled boy clutched at his cheek. “Papa!” He shouted.

Darius didn’t bother replying. He turned to Levi, his gaze cold behind the spectacles he was wearing. “Make sure he sobers up. I will not have him acting like a monkey when the other families arrive.”

Levi inclined his head. “I’ll make sure, sir.”

“Oh, and Levi,” the Zackly boss said as Levi began to steer Vincent towards the stairs. “I’ll also need you to accompany Vincent to the Doks’ this Friday. I can’t attend, so he needs to go in my place.”

Levi couldn’t think of a worse fate than being sentenced to monitor Vincent at the Doks’ annual Halloween soiree, but he wasn’t in a position to refuse. “Of course, sir.”

Darius gave him a look that bordered on appreciative. “Very good,” he said, his expression settling back into one of disgust. “Now get him out of my sight.”

Levi didn’t need to be told twice. He half-pushed, half-carried the inebriated Zackly up the stairs and ushered him into the bathroom, and then he turned on the shower, leaving the water cold.

“Get in,” he ordered, ignoring the way Vincent bitched at him about how bossy he was being. After so many years, his whining was routine, expected.

Thirty minutes later, Vincent was showered, changed, and back downstairs, greeting guests, and Levi was scrubbing his shoes clean of the young Zackly's vomit with the hose by the servants’ entrance.

Thirty-two minutes later, Levi was back in his own car and once again itching for a smoke. He wondered, idly, what kind of cigarettes Mina liked, or if she smoked at all. He was a fan of Titans—specifically the Red Label kind, but they were too bold for some people.

Not that it mattered; Mina was probably long gone, and he was most likely heading home to an empty apartment.

It should have been a welcome thought considering that he'd only grudgingly let her stay with him in the first place, but it wasn't. It had been refreshing to have something other than the Zacklys and their shit to worry about, and even though Mina obviously had a very low opinion of him (and really, who could blame her), she'd been a nice distraction. Levi almost liked having her around, and not just because she'd decided to ride his dick yesterday. 

But oh well. Easy come easy go.

Maybe the universe was telling him to revisit his original plan and get out.

Maybe he'd even do it tonight...especially if the corner store was out of Titan Reds.

 

**

Mikasa paid for her coffee at the counter and found a small, unoccupied table in the back, far from the windows and close to the emergency exit. She stirred in a pack of sugar with a leisurely hand, and then sat back and people watched until the coffee cooled.

Most of the people in the café were coupled up, sitting and chatting with each other as they sipped on their lattes. There were a few loners mixed in with the other patrons, but all except one had laptops and were glued to their respective screens. The one non-laptop bearing patron had a book in his hands, a foreign work that had badly dog-eared corners, and he would occasionally adjust the glasses that kept slipping down his nose as he read, but other than that he didn’t move. Still, Mikasa was intending to wait until he left before doing anything. It was always better to err on the side of caution, after all. A few minutes later, though, a young girl sat down across from the reader—a student, judging by her greeting of “Hello, Professor Moore!” and Mikasa relaxed.

It was only then, when she was absolutely sure that everyone around her was oblivious to what she was doing that she took out the TracFone she’d bought earlier and dialed a number.

He answered on the second ring. “Hello?”

“It’s Mikasa.” There was no need to state her full name.

A pause, then, in a more urgent tone than she was used to hearing, “Are you all right? You’ve been dark for nearly a week.”

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t find a way to contact you sooner.”

“You were wise to play it safe,” he replied. “We have intel on what happened at the Doks. I take it your cover is blown?”

It galled Mikasa to admit it, but she did. “Yes.”

She heard him sigh through the phone. “That is…unfortunate. You were making such headway.” Another pause. “Are you at liberty to disclose your location? I’ll send a car for you.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Mikasa answered, lowering her voice and raising her coffee cup to her lips to hide what she was saying. “My old position is irrecoverable, but I may still be able to complete our mission. I have an…an _in_ of sorts with the rival family. I think I can use it to our advantage.”

She could hear the uncertainty in his voice. “You’re referring to the Zacklys? Mikasa, you’re a good agent, but I don’t—”

“Please, sir,” she interrupted. “I know it’s a risk, but my current contact knows me as Mina and nothing more, and I believe I can manipulate that to achieve our endgame."

"Explain."

"In the months leading up to last week, Eren and I amassed a large amount of damning evidence against our targets, and I believe that, by using my new contact as an intermediary, I will be able to use that evidence to incite a war between the families. I have a plan to see this through. Please give me the opportunity to do so.” She paused. “I haven’t let you down before,” she added.

The silence on the other end of the line felt unending. Finally, though, an answer came. “Very well,” he said. “I don’t like the idea of gambling with your safety, but if what you say is true, then I have little choice. You may stay out in the field a little while longer, provided you check in with me as regularly as possible. Details aren’t necessary, but updates are. Understood?”

A small, triumphant smile pulled at Mikasa’s lips. “Yes, sir. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” The formality in his tone waned. “On a more personal note, please know how sorry I am about your partner. Eren was a good agent…a good man.”

It wasn’t enough—nothing ever would be, but Mikasa appreciated it all the same. “Yes,” she answered thickly. “He was.” She swallowed. “Goodbye, Erwin. I’ll check in as soon I have news to share.”

“Be safe,” came the reply, and then the line went dead.

Mikasa stayed in the café for a few more minutes before she dumped the remainder of her tepid coffee in the trash and walked outside.

She knew she shouldn't linger downtown too long because her disguise was not fool-proof by any stretch of the imagination and the Dok men might still be out looking for her, but she took a more roundabout route than necessary anyway, using the extra minutes to mentally prepare herself for the coming days. What had happened yesterday could not happen again. She'd told Erwin, all those months ago, that she could do this, that going undercover was a challenge she could rise to, but the reality of it had been harder than she'd ever imagined it would be. Being Mina and allowing herself to be used time and again...it had been almost too much, and the line between the character she was playing and who she truly was had slowly started to fade. Some days, that line seemed to disappear completely, and it became impossible for her to separate herself from her role. Yesterday was a perfect example of that. She'd given into her emotions completely, had lashed out and acted in a foolish way, had used Levi - a man she didn't know and couldn't trust - as a balm to heal her wounds. Erwin had asked her if she was all right, and the real answer was no—she wasn't all right. She was failing to stay objective, failing to mentally compartmentalize her life as Mina and her identity as Agent Ackerman, and she probably should have told Erwin that it was time to pull the plug, that she needed to come off active duty for a while. But she couldn't. Eren - her partner of four years and the closest thing to family she'd had left - had died on this assignment, and she owed it to his memory to see this through.

She owed it to herself, too; she'd invested too much in this mission to turn back now.

 _I can do this,_ she vowed. _I will be more careful going forward, more objective. And I will not lose control again like I did yesterday. I won't._

Feeling marginally more grounded, Mikasa stopped meandering and headed back to Levi’s apartment. By the time she was within a few blocks of her temporary home, her focus was the most honed it had been in days. Without breaking stride, she turned into a nearby alley, broke her phone in half, tossed the pieces in the dumpster, and kept walking.

 

**

When Levi finally stepped into his apartment later that night, he was met with a substantial surprise.

Mina was still there.

Against all odds and reasoning, she hadn’t bolted.

She was sitting in one of the kitchen chairs with an untouched mug of tea in front of her, and she’d clearly been there for a while, seeing as no steam was rising from the dark liquid.

Levi set his newly purchased carton of cigarettes down on the counter and looked at her. “You stayed.”

Mina nodded. “Yes,” she replied, slipping her hands into the pockets of the hoodie – _his_ hoodie – that she was wearing. “Are you wishing I hadn’t?” She asked, her dark eyes regarding him with a kind of calm curiosity.

“No,” he answered quietly. “I’m…” _glad._ He cleared his throat. “It’s fine. I told you that you could stay or go, and I meant it.”

Mina nodded. “Okay.” She stood up and gestured to the cigarettes. “Do you mind sharing one? I like Reds.”

“Why not,” he said with a hint of humor. He inclined his head towards her latest outfit. “We’ve been sharing everything else.”

A small smile appeared on Mina’s face. “So we have,” she answered, a devious glint appearing in her eyes. “But if you feel like I’m taking advantage of your hospitality, I’m sure I can find a way to make it up to you.”

A memory of last night’s activities flashed through Levi’s mind. Getting slapped around hadn’t been the greatest, but everything else…

“I think you already did,” he murmured, and then he swiped the smokes off the counter and headed to the back door. “C’mon,” he said, holding it open for her. “There’s a spot out back. I don’t smoke inside.”

The 'spot' was really just a small patch of grass that had once been a garden but was now just grass again, and two lawn chairs that the previous tenant hadn't felt like taking with him or selling. It was far from glamorous and boasted nothing better than a view of the neighboring building’s back brick wall, but Mina didn’t seem to mind. She sat down in one of the chairs and Levi took the other, and they smoked in silence. Mina relaxed more easily than he did, leaning back in her chair and looking up. Despite the ease in her posture, though, her expression seemed to grow more and more melancholy as she gazed at the patches of night sky visible through the ambient, omnipresent haze of Sina’s city lights.

“I miss Eren,” she said a few minutes later as she flicked the butt of her finished cigarette away.

Levi remembered the name. “Your brother.”

“Yes.” Mina’s dark eyes found his. “He died because of me.”

There was more guilt in her voice than Levi would have expected, and it bothered him. “I doubt that,” he said. “I didn’t know your brother, but you told me he came to find you. His goal was to get you out, and you got out. He did what he set out to do.” He took one last drag of his cigarette before putting it out with the heel of his shoe. "To be honest," he added quietly, "I think that makes him one of the lucky ones. Most of us don't even get that much out of this shitty life."

Mina looked at him strangely, her delicate brows drawing together in a way that somehow managed to convey sadness, sympathy, and understanding all at once. _  
_

It was like she could _see_ him, and Levi wasn’t used to that. He stood up. "I'm going to grab a shower," he said, inwardly cringing at how much it came off sounding like a way to escape the conversation. "Lock the door when you come in."

If Mina noticed, she didn't call him out on it. "I will,” she promised. "Goodnight, Levi."

Levi paused. He’d been about to say _Goodnight, Mina,_ when he remembered her comment from the previous night.

_Don’t call me that._

He could have asked her why, but he didn’t. In his experience, questions begot questions, and he wasn’t ready to answer any of his own.

So he kept his silence and his distance, just like he always did.

“Goodnight,” he replied simply, and then he went inside.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter felt a little here and there and everywhere to me, but hopefully it didn't read that way. I also know it ended abruptly, but I am forcing myself to just let it be even though my brain is telling me to edit and rewrite...ugh. 
> 
> ~~I realize you guys don't need to hear about my writing struggles, but I couldn't help venting a little. Feel free to ignore me.~~


	6. Sinking Deeper

She wanted something.

Levi might not have known a lot about his unconventional house guest, but he was adept at reading body language, and between her fidgeting (the cuffs of his shirt were going to be irreparably fucking wrinkled if she kept worrying at them like that) and the restrained words simmering in her eyes, it was pretty damn obvious that she had something on her mind.

Levi, however, wasn’t one to pry. He’d found that – almost always – people revealed much and more when you just stayed quiet and listened.

So all he said was, “You’re up early.”

Mina tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “I like early mornings,” she replied. “There’s a softness to them…a peaceful kind of quiet.”

Levi scoffed. “Sina is never quiet. No city is.” He moved to the cabinet above the sink. “Would you like some tea?”

“Yes, please.” Her tone was almost exaggeratedly polite.

“All I have is black.”

“That’s fine.”

Levi got her a cup and saucer and poured the remaining hot water for her, then placed the teabag on her saucer. “Here.”

She took it from him with a murmured word of thanks, and Levi frowned, once again confused by her politeness. “No need to thank me. It's just some store bought crap that passes for tea. I used to go to specialty shops and purchase quality tea leaves, but…”

Mina raised a brow as she dunked the teabag in the water. “But?”

“I don’t have time anymore.” It was a sad, true statement if ever there was one. His life before he’d joined the Zacklys had been vastly different. He’d had time to pursue his own interests and passions, time to cultivate himself as a person. But the last seven years had robbed him of that, and now he was Levi the Driver. Nothing more.

“Right,” Mina replied, her politeness cooling. “Because of your _job_.”

He could hear the distaste in her voice, and it made Levi feel incredibly tired. He’d lost track of how many comments like that he’d received over the years—the snide ones full of disgust or distaste for what he did and for who he associated with. It was better than the fearful stares, though; _those_ made him feel less than human, like some kind of monster. At least the people that were angry with him still viewed him as a man.

“Can I ask you something?” Mina said a few minutes later, when she was nearly done her tea and it was very obvious that the silence between them would drag on otherwise.

“Why not,” Levi acquiesced, keeping the smugness he felt out of his voice. So he’d been right; she _had_ wanted something after all.

But her question was not one he’d been anticipating.

“How did you get involved with the Zacklys?” She asked.

Levi faltered. He couldn’t tell her the real reason, obviously, but for the first time in a long while, Levi found himself lost for words, no lie springing easily to his lips.

Mina misinterpreted his reticence. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s none of my business. It’s just that you seem…” She pursed her lips, searching for a word. “Different,” she finally settled on, ironically choosing the same descriptor he'd mentally ascribed to her own character. “You don’t act like the men I knew at the Doks.”

“The Zacklys aren’t the Doks,” he answered, his wits returning. “They’re more powerful and much more high society.” _And also more depraved and cruel than the Doks could ever be._

Mina took a sip of her tea. “So they could wipe out the Doks if they wanted to?”

It was another curveball of a question, and it hit Levi in the gut with a punch made all the more effective considering the fact that Mina had asked it conversationally, as if she’d been inquiring about how he took his tea.

He recovered quickly, though. “Yes,” he answered slowly, trying to figure out her angle. He was sure she had one. “Hypothetically, the Zacklys could take out the Doks if they wanted to, but they have no reason to do so in actuality. They may technically be rivals, but there’s been peace between them for three generations.”

Finally, Mina showed her hand. “What if I told you something that had the power to shake that peace?” She asked.

“Something that would make the Zacklys lash out?” Levi pictured the potential massacre and upheaval that would cause—complete with Nile Dok’s head ending up on a proverbial silver platter. He crossed his arms and took the bait. “I’d listen,” he said, “if you really had information with that kind of power.”

Mina placed her teacup back in the saucer and straightened. “I do,” she said. “And I’ll give it to you. On one condition.”

“Name it.” _You’re very calculating for a prostitute, aren’t you, Mina?_

“You share it with Darius Zackly in a way that makes him seek retribution.”

And suddenly it all made sense. “You want revenge, don’t you?” Levi surmised. “For what they did to your brother.”

“Yes,” Mina answered without hesitation. “After what they did to Eren and to me, I’d say I’ve earned it.”

Levi leaned back against the counter, regarding her quietly. She’d endured terrible things at the hands of the Dok men, and yet she stood there now, all mission and fury and purpose. She’d been broken, but instead of falling apart or struggling to put her pieces back together, she’d sharpened those pieces into knives and fashioned herself into a vehicle for vengeance.

It was impressive, and also the kind of commitment and strength that demanded respect.

So that, combined with the fact that he also relished the thought of seeing a war break out between the families, made his decision an easy one. “You have my word,” he agreed. “If your information really is as valuable as you think it is, I will spin it in a way that will rouse Darius’ anger.”

It was like a weight lifted from Mina’s shoulders. “Thank you,” she said.

Levi raised a brow. “Well? Are you going to tell me or what?”

“I can’t.”

Levi began to interject, but Mina hasted on. “I have to show you, and that will take a bit more effort.” She paused. “You see, I have evidence that the Doks have been skimming a substantial portion off the top of the profit from the narcotics business they share with the Zacklys. They’ve diverted tens of thousands of dollars into their own accounts and have been forging the documentation they provide. It’s been going on for years, right under the Zacklys’ noses. And that’s not all.” Mina lowered her voice, despite the fact that they were alone. “I know that Darius’ oldest son, the one who was groomed to inherit his father’s business, found out, and the Doks murdered him so that he couldn’t take the proof to his father. They made it look like a suicide, but it wasn’t.”

It was a good thing he was leaning back against the counter, because the shock of that news was immense. Levi remembered Fenton Zackly. He’d been Vincent Zackly’s older brother, and what the younger sibling lacked, the older sibling had had in spades. Fenton had been intelligent, suave, well liked, and had exhibited extreme discretion in all of his business and personal affairs. Darius had favored him—a fact that he’d never chosen to hide from his younger son. Fenton was his protégé, his heir, his pride, so when Fenton had decided to take a million dollar bath after his girlfriend had left him for someone else, Darius had tracked the girl down and buried her and her family alive as retribution.

If it turned out, all this time later, that the Doks had been responsible instead…

Levi felt his heart begin to pound. “Words are not proof,” he said, keeping his excitement at bay. “Do you have any tangible evidence of these claims you make?”

Mina's response was instantaneous. “Yes. I kept a journal during my time at the Doks’ whorehouse.” Coldness seeped into her voice. “You’d be surprised how much a man will divulge after he’s spent himself inside you,” she said. “I learned a great deal from Nile and his associates, and I kept logs of our conversations.”

“Conversations are still just words.”

“Maybe, but I have bank account numbers to back them up, and I know where the file on Fenton Zackly is.”

Levi’s jaw dropped. “How the fuck did you manage to get bank account numbers?”

“That’s not important,” Mina deflected. “The important thing is that I have them, along with the combination to Nile’s private safe, which is where he keeps the file on Fenton.”

Levi stared at her, flabbergasted. _Who the fuck are you, Mina? Really?_

He didn’t ask her, though. Instead, he said, “And where is this journal of yours now?”

For the first time that morning, Mina’s confidence seemed to waver. “Back in the room assigned to me at the Doks'. When I ran, it all…it happened so quickly.” Her shoulders sagged. “I didn’t have time to retrieve it. It was incredibly stupid of me.”

“It wasn’t stupid,” Levi said, defending her from herself. “You were on heroin, your brother had just been murdered, and you were running for your life. It’s amazing you got out with even the clothes on your back.”

Mina glanced over at him. “Maybe, but that doesn’t change the fact that I left without the power to crush the Doks for what they did.” She took a breath and then raised her chin. “But I am going to figure out a way to get it back,” she said. “And once I do, I’ll expect you to hold up your end of our bargain.”

“Actually,” Levi said as something dawned on him, “I think I know how we can get your journal.”

It was Mina’s turn to look surprised. “How?” She asked.

“The Doks host a Halloween party every year on the last Friday in October, which is this coming Friday. Hired help doesn’t usually get invited, but Darius ordered me to go with Vincent. We could smuggle you in if you know where the servants’ entrance is.”

“I do,” Mina answered, “but the Doks all know what I look like. Someone will recognize me.”

“No, they won’t.” When he saw her confusion, he added, “The party is a masquerade ball—everyone wears masks.”

Mina’s lips parted to form a perfect _oh_ of surprise. “Levi, that would be perfect. I’ll be able to slip in and out and none of the Doks will ever know.”

Levi nodded. “Yeah, I think it’s the safest chance you’ll get.” He held her gaze. “But before I agree to help you do this, I have a condition of my own. A request, if you will.”

Mina’s guard instantly went up, her excitement receding into a mask of defensiveness. “Very well,” she said reluctantly. “Name it.”

There were a great many things Levi wanted to know, but chief among them was the most basic question of all, the key to something that he’d only realized was a secret two nights ago.

“What is your real name?” He asked her.

She was quiet and still for so long that Levi though she would refuse to answer him or offer him some deflection instead, but in the end, she didn’t.

“Mikasa,” she said, and her dark eyes were brimming with so much vulnerability than Levi knew it wasn’t a lie. “My real name is Mikasa.”

 

**

Levi got home late that night—later than he had any other night since Mikasa had started staying with him.

She was upstairs already, preparing for bed, when she heard him come in. She’d left dinner for him in the fridge, but within seconds she heard him on the stairs.

She opened her door when he reached the landing.

“Hi,” she greeted.

“Hi...Mikasa.” He paused between the hello and her name as if he were still getting used to it, and truth be told, it was a little jarring to hear her real name cross his lips.

It didn’t make her uncomfortable, though, and that surprised her, because she still wasn't convinced that revealing her name had been the wisest move. She'd done it because a tug of intuition had told her that he would know if she gave another false name instead, but protecting her real name had been sacrosanct up to then, and now a piece of her armor was stripped away.

_So why doesn't it feel that way?_

She pushed the thought away and leaned against the door frame, coming back to the moment. “I left dinner for you in the fridge,” she told him.

“I know,” Levi responded, stepping towards her. “I'm just not hungry.”

Beneath the hall light, Mikasa could see how haggard he looked. The bags under his eyes were darker than usual, and everything from the slope of his shoulders to the frown lines on his forehead conveyed his fatigue.

It raised her concern more than it should have. “Are you all right?” She asked.

Levi tried for an indifferent shrug. “Bad day,” he said. “But nothing more than the usual shit.” His lips twisted up in a self-deprecating way. “You can reel in your pity, by the way. You don’t have to act concerned. I know you hate what I do.”

_Yes, but that doesn’t mean I hate you._

“I’m gonna grab a shower,” he continued before she had a chance to form any kind of meaningful reply. “Goodnight, Mikasa.”

She was still standing there in the doorway of the spare bedroom when the bathroom door closed, and she was still there a few minutes later when she heard him turn the shower on.

Mikasa knew she should leave well enough alone, knew that whatever was eating away at the Zackly driver wasn’t her business or her burden, and yet she wanted to do something, wanted to make him feel better. He’d agreed to help her with her plan to take down the Doks, after all, and if he were really as terrible as the rest of the Zacklys, he wouldn’t have done that, right?

She was probably grasping at straws with that summation, but it was still the tenuous truth she clung to as she slipped out of her clothes and padded into the bathroom.

That, and the lie that she was only doing this for _his_ benefit.

There was steam on the mirror and on the glass walls of the square shower in the corner, which made the tattoos on Levi’s back appear blurred and indistinct, but when Mikasa stepped closer and tapped on the glass to get his attention, she could make out the details she’d seen the other day, along with other, unfamiliar tattoos that adorned his legs.

Levi turned in surprise, his eyes widening as he saw her standing there, his gaze dragging over her body when he realized she was naked.

Mikasa took her own sweet time looking over his body, her perusal lingering at the V of his hips and lower, her lips pulling up in a mischievous smirk when she saw him twitch beneath her gaze.

“May I join you?” She asked.

He stood there for a heartbeat beneath the spray of the shower, just staring at her, and then he wordlessly slid the door open, making room for her as she stepped into the shower. He didn’t touch her, but the way he watched her as the water began to dampen her skin and hair was almost more intimate.

“I don’t understand you,” he said at length, his voice little more than a mumble.

“Do you need to?” She challenged.

“No, but…”

Mikasa put a finger to his lips. “You’ve agreed to help me, so I want to help you. It doesn’t need to be more complicated than that.” Even if it was. “You had a bad day, and I can make it better. Would you like me to?”

Levi seemed to be at odds with himself—Mikasa could see the desire to puzzle her out in his eyes, but she could also see his desire for _her,_ and the latter seemed to win out.

He nodded, almost imperceptibly, and Mikasa smiled, once more feeling the small rush of victory she’d felt two nights ago when she’d had him in her hand.

This time, she knelt down and took him in her mouth. She closed her eyes as she set to her task, to block out both the water and the sight of his tattoos. She’d been face to face with too many inked abdomens already, forced to bob before them like a blow-up doll, forced to look between the tattooed eyes painted on their bodies and the lust-filled eyes of the men she was on her knees for, men she hated.

Levi didn’t ask her to open her eyes, nor did he fist his hands into her hair and shove his cock down her throat like others had. He stayed silent and still as she sucked him to stiffness, not even moaning when she reached a hand up to fondle his balls (although she did feel his quads flex against her arm). When she gently scraped her teeth up his shaft, however, he cursed and reflexively reached for her, his fingers winding into her hair.

Mikasa released him with a pop and a smirk. Apparently, the Zackly driver liked a little pain with his pleasure: the first time it had been her nail and this time it had been her teeth. She’d have to remember that.

 _No,_ the saner part of her argued. _Because this won’t happen again. It shouldn’t even be happening now._

She’d promised herself that she would be stronger, more cautious, that she wouldn’t lose control again, that she would hold herself together for the sake of the mission.

But she was wet and hurting and he was here, so she ignored the voice of reason, listening instead to Levi’s two husky, growled words.

“Stand up.”

She did. It was an order, but it was an order she could refuse, and that made all the difference.

“What now?” She asked, letting him lead. She could feel his cock brushing against her thigh, hot and heavy, and she rubbed her leg against him purposely, teasingly, wanting to work him up.

A muscle clenched in Levi’s already tight jaw. “Turn around.”

She did, putting her hands on the shower wall and sticking her ass out towards him.

He rubbed himself against her, doing some of his own teasing, but the question he asked wasn't teasing at all. “Are you sure you want this?” He murmured quietly, his voice much more controlled than it had been moments before.

Mikasa couldn’t see his face anymore, but she nodded over her shoulder. “Yes.”

Apparently satisfied, he lined himself up and slid inside her then, slowly, inch by inch, until she was stuffed full of him and whimpering. It felt good, so _good_ , but it was sweet and slow and it scared her. Tenderness was reserved for lovers, for people who cared about each other, and that wasn’t them. That wasn’t what this was.

Biting her lip against the pleasure she felt, she said, “Don’t be gentle.” _I want this to hurt,_ she pleaded silently. _I need it to hurt._

Levi didn’t seem to understand that, though. He acquiesced her to a certain extent, gripping her hips tightly and setting a pace that others would have called rough, but Mikasa could feel him holding back, and even though it shouldn’t have, it made her angry.

Reaching back, she pushed him away, ignoring the surprised grunt he made as he slipped out of her.

She turned around and gripped his cock, squeezing. “I said I don’t want gentle,” she said, forgetting that she was supposed to be catering to what _he_ wanted this time. _I don’t want you to be different than the others. I want to hate you._

Her anger seemed to rouse his own. “Fine,” he said. “You want it rough?” He hoisted her legs up and shoved her against the wet, tiled wall. “I’ll be rough.” He drove himself into her, going balls deep in one swift thrust.

Mikasa’s head lolled back against the wall and her mouth opened reflexively. “ _Yes_ ,” she moaned, wrapping her legs around his waist. “Like that.”

Levi didn’t hold back this time. His movements were fast and deep and relentless, and after a few minutes of violent thrusts, Mikasa could feel bruises forming on her spine from the impact of being shoved against the wall again and again. She could feel the damage inside, too, could even feel him knocking at her cervix like a battering ram on his deepest thrusts, but the pain felt good and she was too wet to care about how sore she would be later on.

Her orgasm came over her unexpectedly, and she cried out, her nails digging into Levi’s tattooed skin as she clawed at him and held on for dear life. He fucked her through it, not slowing even a little, wringing every ounce of pleasure from her until she went limp, her body only held up by the solid muscle of his chest at her front and the slick tiled wall of the shower at her back.

Still, Levi didn’t stop. He crushed her into the wall, angling her pelvis so he could drive in just a little deeper, and before long, Mikasa could feel herself building towards another orgasm.

Then she felt his fingers on her throat. He pushed her head against the wall and tightened his grip, hard enough to get her attention but not hard enough to choke her.

“Am I…monster…enough…for you…now?” He asked, the sentence punctuated by quick, brutal jerks of his hips.

Their eyes locked in that moment, and despite the steam fogging up the air and the walls around them, Mikasa felt a chill shock through her at the clarity and understanding in their shared gaze.

 _Broken souls always recognize each other,_ someone had told her once, but she had never experienced it—not until now. She could see Levi’s hurt and anger, could see the self-loathing in his eyes, and all of it was so familiar that it was like staring into a mirror.

He’d held his emotions in check but she’d forced his hand, had broken his control in order to make him break her because otherwise nothing about him or her or their situation made any sense.

She should have told him no, should have told him that he _wasn’t_ a monster, at least not here, that right now, she was much more of a monster than him.

But she didn't. She might have initiated this under the auspices of making him feel better, but the truth was that she didn't have it in her to offer comfort when all she could feel was turmoil. So all she said in answer to his question as he continued to pound into her body was a stuttering, _“Ye-yes…_ ”

And then she was cumming, her body clenching like a vise around his cock as his fingers clenched around her throat, and she felt the tears come moments later, streaming from her eyes just like the water streaming from the shower head above them.

She heard Levi roar as he reached his own peak, felt him let go inside of her, and then it was just the sound of her pounding heart and the steady drone of the shower, filling their tiny, fogged-up glass cubicle like so much white noise.

“Mikasa?” The driver's voice sounded miles away.

She opened her eyes, hoping that Levi would confuse their glassiness for shower water instead of tears. “Don’t,” she said preemptively as she wriggled off of him and settled her feet back on the floor. She could see the question forming on his lips, could see it shining in his eyes. “Don’t ask me that. Not unless you’re prepared to answer it yourself.”

Her words had the desired effect. Levi stepped away, his expression shutting down until he was a blank, unreadable canvas.

_Are you okay?_

Neither of them were, and both of them seemed to know it.

Without speaking, Levi opened the shower door and stepped out, and Mikasa felt goosebumps rising on her arms as a gust of cooler air swept into the overheated shower.

She watched in silence as Levi grabbed a towel, ran it over his dripping hair, and then wrapped it around his hips. “You can finish your shower first,” he said without looking at her, his words almost drowned out by the water. “Just let me know when you’re done.”

Mikasa stood dumbly beneath the spray after he left, staring at the door as the driver’s seed trickled down her thighs. She stayed like that until the water went cold and her legs grew tired, and then she turned off the water and sank down to the shower floor, drawing her knees up to her chest like a child.

_Are you okay?_

The unspoken question haunted her, but not only because the answer was that she might never be okay again. It also haunted her because she couldn’t figure out why Levi’s reality was apparently the same, why a member of the mafia who’d probably done terrible things in his service to the Zackly family could be so full of conflict, contradiction, and brokenness. And she couldn’t understand why she cared, and _that_ haunted her most of all.

She should have been thinking about the progress she'd made that morning in gaining her goal and getting Levi to go along with her plan, should have been mentally preparing for Friday night and the Dok party. But instead, sitting on the floor of the shower in a cold, wet, shivering huddle, Mikasa put her head on her knees, wrapped her arms around herself, and cried.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I didn't stick to my weekly update schedule (I wanted to, but LIFE). Chances are good that I won't be able to go back to posting such frequent updates, but I promise I will keep working on this story.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	7. The Party of the Year

The Doks may have had a reputation for being some of the least likeable people in the city, but no one could deny that they knew how to throw a damn fine party. Their soirees were the very personification of the seven deadly sins: status, opulence, indulgence, finery of every imaginable kind...it was all there, ripe for the taking, and the Doks knew how to brand it in a unique, immersive way that kept people talking for weeks. Everyone who was anyone yearned to attend a Dok party, but only the most elite members of high society ever received an invitation. Exclusivity, after all, whet appetites like nothing else could.

This year's Halloween masquerade was no exception. When guests stepped beyond the imposing threshold, they were transported to another place and time, and all the rules of the daytime world fell away.

The entirety of the Doks’ mansion was bedecked in black and gold, and even the walls seemed to glitter darkly upon entry. Curtains of liquid gold adorned every doorway, tied back with black silk ribbons, and the fabrics gleamed in the light of the flickering candelabras that hung suspended from the high-ceilinged halls. Electricity had been eschewed entirely in favor of candles, bathing everything in a dimness that reflected the air of mystique about the place. Masked wait staff floated through the halls and rooms with gilded trays full of exotic delicacies and brimming champagne glasses, making sure no guest was without food or beverage. A string orchestra was playing minor waltzes in the grand ballroom, accompanying the guests dancing on the marble floor, and upstairs, a DJ was catering to a different crowd, playing house music in the Doks’ personal bar, which had been done up in the style of a steampunk speakeasy.

The finishing touch to the extravaganza was the guests themselves, all of whom were dressed to the nines and covered in jewels and diamonds worth more than most people made in a lifetime. The men’s suits were all tailored to perfection, and most were adorned with diamond cuff links and satin bow ties. The women’s gowns were even more impressive, the expensive silks and satins rustling as their wearers moved through the house.

More than a few of the ladies bestowed Levi with a red-lipped smile as he passed by, their eyes glittering through the slits of their masks, but Levi’s own face remained impassive, unmoved by their interest.

Parties like this were outlets for the usually buttoned-up crowd, the masks an excuse to give in to hidden desires and act on sinful impulses that they denied while in their own skins. Anonymity and intoxication bred an air of freedom the likes of which didn’t exist outside of these lavish parties, and Levi could have easily played that to his advantage. Hidden by his own black and green mask, no one knew he was hired help; he was just a man like any other, and the world was his oyster.

Not that he gave a shit. In his opinion, all of these rich assholes could stuff it.

One woman did catch his attention, however—a tall, striking redhead who moved with a liquid grace and confidence that made many heads turn as she passed by. There was something about her that seemed almost familiar…but Levi didn’t dwell much on it.

Tonight, for once, he had a particular purpose.

And it wasn’t just to make sure that Vincent Zackly didn’t cause a scene.

“Can I refresh your drink, sir?”

Levi glanced up at the waiter who’d approached him and shook his head. The man bowed slightly and moved away, leaving Levi alone once more.

As he’d been doing for the past hour, he looked at the old-fashioned, ornate clock hanging on the far wall.

Ten minutes to twelve.

Levi frowned. Mikasa should have checked in by now. Before they’d left his apartment, they’d agreed to meet at eleven thirty, regardless of the mission’s success.

Now she was twenty minutes late and counting.

Deciding to go investigate what the hold up was, Levi moved towards the door—

—right as Vincent Zackly strode in and threw an arm about his shoulders. “Levi!” The young heir cried. “I’ve been looking for you for fucking _ever,_ man,” he complained. “Come on. I met these twins that are dying to meet a working man.”

Levi suppressed his frustration. “Not now, Vincent.”

The young Zackly’s grip tightened. “Don’t be boring, Levi. I’m doing you a favor! I want us _both_ to have a little fun tonight. Don't be such an ungrateful prick!”

Cursing under his breath, Levi acquiesced. “All right, Vincent. Show me your twins.”

Vincent released him with a laugh. “That’s more like it!” He exclaimed, striding away and beckoning Levi after him.

Levi followed with a scowl, resigning himself to participate in whatever inane mischief the young heir wanted to entangle himself in. The sooner he appeased Vincent, the sooner he would be able to find Mikasa, and the sooner they would be able to leave.

As he followed Vincent into the corridor, the clock struck twelve.

 

**

A feeling of nausea swept through Mikasa when she entered her old room at the Doks, and she suddenly felt uncomfortably hot beneath the ruffled layers of the black satin gown she was wearing.

The place looked more or less the same as it had when she’d left—one small dresser in the corner, a standing lamp in another, and the bed that she'd…

Mikasa closed her eyes against the memories that came to mind. _Focus on the task at hand,_ she willed herself. _Not on what you endured here._

Still feeling faintly nauseated, Mikasa strode over to the dresser and knelt down, reaching an arm beneath the bottom and searching for the journal she’d kept taped there.

She felt nothing but wood.

For an alarming second, Mikasa thought that someone had discovered her journal and taken it, and panic swept through her. Not ready to give up, though, she hunkered down until she was eye level with the bottom of the dresser and reached a little further beneath it, and just when she was about to give up, her hand brushed against a familiar piece of leather.

Giving a sigh of relief, she gripped the corner of the small journal and tugged. With only a slight cling of resistance from the tape, she pulled the journal free.

Which is when she heard a door opening in the other room.

Mikasa bolted to her feet and hastily brushed the dust from her dress and the surface of the journal and then tucked the small logbook into the garter belt concealed high up on her upper thigh. She was just smoothing down the ruffles of her dress when she heard someone gasp.

“Are you lost, ma’am? Guests are not supposed to be here.”

Mikasa turned at the sound of the familiar voice, stifling a gasp of her own. “Lydia,” she breathed, forgetting her cover in a second of overwhelming compassion.

The eighteen-year-old girl was a shadow of her former self, all skin and bones and dark circles beneath her doe eyes, her rouged cheeks the only spot of color on her otherwise pale skin. She was dressed only in lingerie and heels, and the tracks on her arm were deeper than they'd been when Mikasa had last laid eyes on her.

The young girl looked at Mikasa's masked face dubiously for a moment before her eyes cleared slightly and her lips parted. “Mina?” She whispered. “Is it…is it really you?”

Mikasa nodded, feeling tears prick her eyes beneath the ornate black and green mask she wore. “It’s me,” she admitted.

A look of fear replaced the surprise on the younger girl’s face. “You…why would you come back here?” She stammered. “You shouldn’t be here. If any of the Doks found out, they would—”

“I know.” Mikasa walked over and placed a reassuring hand on the girl’s skinny arm. “I’m leaving soon. I just had to retrieve something of mine that I left here.”

Lydia’s brows drew together, a divot appearing on her forehead. “Is it true, Mina? What they were saying about you? That you weren’t really one of us, that you were some kind of…of spy?”

Mikasa’s gaze drifted once more around her old room before homing back in on the eighteen-year-old. “Regardless of what they say about me, never doubt that I was one of you,” she said quietly. Like Lydia, she knew what it was like to be touched by men she loathed, knew what it was like to be used and abused for the sake of another person's pleasure. She knew what it was like to dream of freedom but not have it.

Lydia’s eyes filled with tears. “I’m glad you got out,” she said. “You had it worse than I did. You were Nile’s favorite.”

Mikasa shuddered involuntarily. “Nile,” she repeated, the name sounding like a curse as she spoke it. A terrible thought occurred to her. “Did he question you after I escaped?”

Lydia nodded. “Yes,” she confessed. “But of course none of us knew anything, and that only made him angrier. I’ve never seen him so enraged.” A tremor shook Lydia's waifish frame. “I can't imagine what he would've done to you if he'd caught you, Mina.”

Mikasa’s throat tightened. “Did he take that anger out on you? Or on the other girls?”

Lydia looked away instead of answering, and Mikasa felt fury building inside of her. _How dare he hurt this girl?_ She thought, enraged. _How dare he?_

With effort, she mastered her temper. “Lydia, I promise you that I will make him pay for it,” she vowed. “Someday soon.”

The girl reached up and grasped Mikasa's hands. “Oh, Mina, you mustn’t. Just leave before they figure out that you’re here. Don’t worry about me or the others. Save yourself.”

Mikasa nearly told the other girl to come with her, to leave right then and there, but the saner part of her brain kept her from speaking. As much as she wanted to help Lydia, she couldn’t. Not now. She still had to retrieve the documents from the safe, still had a mission to complete, and she wouldn't succeed if she had to look after a drug-addled eighteen-year-old while doing it.

But she would return. She would return for all of them.

Her heart in her throat, Mikasa gave the younger girl a nod. “Okay,” she said, hating herself for it. “I’ll go.”

The visible way that Lydia relaxed only made Mikasa feel worse. “Good,” she said with a sigh, and then she reached out her stick thin arms and gave Mikasa a weak hug. “Take care, Mina.”

 _You too_ stuck in Mikasa’s throat, so she just gave the other girl as tender a smile as she could muster and strode from the room.

She didn’t run into any of the other girls on her way out of the brothel wing of the Dok estate, which was a small saving grace. Emotionally, she wasn’t sure she would have been able to handle it. She hadn’t expected to run into any of the girls at all, because on nights such as this, the Doks usually dressed them up and told them to go entertain the guests. Seeing Lydia’s deterioration and knowing that she was continuing to endure the suffocating existence Mikasa had broken free of made her want to weep.

But it also fueled her determination.

Like the whores’ quarters, Nile’s private quarters were fairly deserted, and Mikasa moved quickly and quietly through the halls until she arrived in front of a pair of imposing double doors—the entrance to Nile’s study.

Pushing one open just enough, she slipped inside, and then, after scanning the room to make sure she was alone, Mikasa hurried over to the safe in the corner.

And then all of her adrenaline-fueled purpose was snuffed out by a wave of dismay.

“No...” she breathed, staring helplessly at the safe in front of her.

When she’d resided here, Nile had still used a somewhat anachronistic, six-digit lock to secure his most clandestine business files, but now the keypad was gone, replaced by a simple screen with no buttons or numbers of any kind on its surface.

_A fingerprint scanner._

“My, my, my, what do we have here?”

Mikasa whirled around, her dismay deepening as she came face to face with Nile Dok himself.

He was dressed immaculately but he looked just as slimy as he always did, his trademark half-sneer in place, his eyes rheumy with alcohol.

Repressing her disgust, Mikasa improvised as best as she could. “Mr. Dok,” she said, infusing her voice with a lilting accent to disguise it. “I—I never meant to intrude.”

Nile took a few steps towards her, his eyes roving over her black-clad figure, his gaze lingering on the places where the satin clung to her curves. “The fact that you’re here, standing in my private study, speaks to the contrary, my dear,” he replied.

Mikasa swallowed and offered him a coquettish smile. “I confess that you’ve caught me being somewhat naughty,” she said, intentionally darkening her voice on the final word. As much as it gutted her, rousing Nile’s lust would yield a far better outcome than rousing his anger. “You see,” she continued, “One of the other ladies I met tonight made a bet that no one could sneak into your private chambers, and I…well, I aimed to prove her wrong.”

Nile scoffed. “And how exactly were you going to prove that you’d succeeded?”

Mikasa moved away from the safe and trailed a finger lightly on the corner of his desk before tapping it. “I was going to steal a piece of stationery or some other small bauble...nothing that a man as important as you would miss.”

“Hmm,” Nile said, moving towards her. “Pity that I caught you, then. And that I keep everything in this room under lock and key.” He stopped directly in front of her, and Mikasa instinctively tried to move away, but Nile caged her, trapping her between his body and the desk. His eyes glittered as he sneered again. “The question now is: what should I do to punish you?”

Mikasa’s lips trembled. “Punish me?” She repeated faintly.

Nile must have mistaken her fear and disgust for desire, because he chuckled lightly and stepped in close—close enough that Mikasa could feel the growing bulk of him against her thigh. She could also smell the musky cologne he was wearing—the same scent she'd smelled countless times before when he would collapse on top of her after he was done fucking her. The same smell that had lingered on the pillow poor Lydia now slept on.

“Oh yes,” Nile all but groaned, bringing his hands up to her rib cage. “I think I need to teach you a lesson.” He reached up and squeezed one of her breasts, mauling it roughly.

Mikasa’s eyes pricked beneath her mask and she hissed in pain.

“Louder,” Nile cooed, and then he ripped at her dress, yanking it down and revealing her bra. “Pretty,” he said. “Very pretty.”

Mikasa’s skin was crawling and she wanted to break Nile’s hands one finger at a time, but she resisted, forcing herself to stay in character. “Please…” she breathed, hoping that her breathiness would egg him on. She already knew - via past experience - that pleading was a turn on for him.

Nile leaned in and ran his tongue up her neck before biting it harshly. “I said _louder_ ,” he growled, and then he shoved her hard against the desk and tweaked one of her nipples through her bra, drawing a gasp of real pain from Mikasa.

“Better,” he said. He leaned back slightly, his eyes blazing with lust as they moved from her heaving chest to her parted lips. “Let’s see what’s behind this lovely mask, shall we?” He said.

Fighting her every instinct, Mikasa reached down and teasingly gripped him through his pants. “Or,” she whispered seductively, “We could do this.”

And she closed the distance between them and kissed him full on the mouth.

Nile responded immediately, his hands groping as he all but thrust his tongue down her throat, and Mikasa went with it, moaning into his mouth and rolling her hips against his even as her hand moved back on the desk, searching.

“Fuck,” Nile said when he drew back to take a breath. “You remind me of…”

He never had a chance to finish his sentence. In one swift motion, Mikasa hit him squarely in the head with the paperweight she’d finally managed to palm, and Nile collapsed against her like a sack of potatoes.

With a brusque shove, she pushed him away from her and he fell to the floor, and then she placed the bloody paperweight back down on his desk and stood there, shaking.

“Mikasa?”

It took her a moment to register the sound of her name, and when she did, she picked up the paperweight again, ready to attack.

Levi held up his hands. “Mikasa, it’s me,” he said as he stepped fully into her line of vision.

Mikasa dropped the paperweight and turned away from the Zackly driver, mortification burning through her as she hastily pulled up her dress and quickly brushed away the tears that had slipped below her mask. Then she swallowed and took a breath, forcing her emotions down. _You are Agent Ackerman now. Not Mina. Not Mikasa._

She turned back to Levi. “Help me pick him up,” she said quietly.

“Is he…?”

“No. He’s alive.” _Not that he deserves to be._ “Now help me move him over to the safe.”

Levi didn’t ask her anything else, and together, they managed to pick Nile Dok up off of the floor and drag him over to the safe. Once there, Mikasa shifted Nile until she was able to get his thumb on top of the small fingerprint scanner.

“I thought you said it was a combination lock,” Levi muttered, his teeth gritted against the strain of holding up the larger man.

“It was,” Mikasa said, and she pressed Nile’s thumb down. A second later, a blue light flickered and the safe’s locking mechanism audibly disengaged.

Mikasa dropped Nile’s hand without ceremony and opened the safe. Thankfully, while he’d changed the safe’s access, its contents were still the same.

Reaching once more beneath her dress, Mikasa fished out the phone she’d clipped to a holster on her other garter belt, and then she walked over to Nile’s desk and opened the thick file.

It was sorted alphabetically, and _Fenton_ was the only F name so it didn’t take long to find what she was looking for. Page by page, Mikasa scanned the incriminating document onto her phone, and then, just for security purposes, she uploaded everything to the cloud. When the green check mark appeared on her screen with the word _SAVED_ next to it, she let out a breath of relief.

It was only then that she realized Levi was still standing awkwardly by the safe with Nile’s bulk half sprawled on top of him.

Mikasa gathered the pages of the file back together and stuck them back in the safe before closing the small door. As soon as she heard the click of the lock reengaging, she turned to Levi. “Here,” she said, once more helping to support his weight. “Let’s put him in his desk chair.”

Again, Levi didn’t question her; he just did as she asked without comment or complaint.

Once they’d managed to get him seated, Mikasa folded the unconscious man’s arms on his desk, wiped the spot of blood from his hair, and laid his head down on his hands. Then she wiped his blood off of the paperweight. “There,” she said, stepping back. “Hopefully, everyone will think he just got drunk and passed out.”

Still, Levi didn’t say anything. He was regarding her closely, his expression a mixture of concern and something else…something that looked a lot like mistrust.

Mikasa swallowed, choosing to ignore it for the moment. “Ready to go?” She asked, trying to keep her voice even despite the way she was still inwardly shaking from the ordeal of the past few minutes.

Levi nodded, but as soon as Mikasa started for the door, he placed a hand on her arm.

Mikasa flinched, drawing in a sharp breath, and Levi let her go, his brows drawing together as his concern deepened. “I know you don’t want me to ask you this, but are you okay?”

 _Of course I’m not okay!_ She wanted to scream. _I abandoned Lydia—I abandoned all of them. I let Nile…I let him…_

Mikasa pressed her lips together. “Not here,” she said, knowing that if she said anymore, her resilience would shatter. “Let’s just go. _Please_.” Her voice broke slightly on the last word, and she knew Levi had heard it, but she didn’t care. She felt like she was suffocating, like she was drowning and trying to swim to the surface but couldn’t break through, felt like coldness and darkness were pressing in on her.

Levi must have sensed her turmoil, because after a moment of silence, he held out his hand. “Come on, then,” he urged, firmly but gently. “Let’s get out of here.”

Mikasa put her hand in his, gripping it like a lifeline, and, without another word, she let him lead her out of the room and back through the winding halls of the Dok mansion until they made it out the front door and into the cold night air.

And even then, Mikasa held on to his hand, not letting go until they reached their car and the sounds of the party had faded behind them.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there you have it: I officially haven't abandoned this story. I hope you guys enjoyed the long overdue update, and stay tuned...I might actually be posting another chapter of this in the very near future. Time off work + newfound inspiration + having a car in the shop = more writing! Lol. 
> 
> Anyway, if you're coming back to this story after my five month long hiatus, cheers! Thanks for not giving up on this/ me. :)


	8. Under the Covers

Mikasa was quiet all the way back to the apartment, and even when Levi turned into the small driveway and turned off the ignition, she opened her door and stepped out of the car without saying a word.

Puzzled, Levi watched as she began to head for the front steps without so much as a backward glance in his direction.

“Oi,” he called after her as he got out of the car.

She turned, and Levi detached his apartment key from the ring affixed to his car keys and tossed it to her. She caught it deftly, which Levi took as an encouraging sign. Whatever had happened to her in the Dok house had obviously not affected her ability to function. Her reflexes seemed as reliable as ever. Her mental state, however…

“I have to go back for Vincent,” he said by way of explanation when Mikasa still didn’t say anything. “I’ll be back soon.” He surveyed the rumpled state of her evening gown and the irritated skin of her neck. “Do you…want me to get anything for you?” He asked, in part because he was legitimately concerned and in part because he just wanted her to break her damn silence.

Infuriatingly, Mikasa just shook her head in response. But then, almost as an afterthought, she added, “Thank you, though.”

Levi pressed his lips together. “Yeah,” he muttered, and then he got back in the car and started up the engine, although he waited until Mikasa disappeared into his apartment before he backed out of the driveway and headed back to the Dok mansion.

He was distracted about her for the duration of the drive, and even when he rejoined the party and went in search of Vincent Zackly, he couldn’t shake his concern over the Doks' ex-whore.

Once he finally managed to locate the young heir, Levi indulged him for an hour or so, but three drinks later, when Vincent could barely stand without stumbling into a guest, Levi steered him downstairs and towards the front door. The heir, as usual, resisted, complaining that Levi always cut his fun short and threatening to have him fired, but Levi was deaf to the Zackly’s complaints and threats. He’d babysat the kid enough to recognize a tantrum when he saw it.

Besides, Vincent didn’t have the authority to fire him.

It was nearly three a.m. when Levi finally dropped Vincent off at home and got him into bed, and it was edging close to four when he made it back to his own apartment. Completely wiped, Levi took off his suit jacket and tie and laid them over the back of a kitchen chair, and then he unbuttoned his starched white shirt and headed for the stairs.

When he reached the second floor, he was greeted by the steady drone of the shower.

Surprised, Levi walked over and paused just outside of the bathroom, and then he reached up and rapped lightly on the door with his knuckles. When he didn’t receive a response, he knocked again, this time more loudly.

Nothing.

Frowning, Levi gave up on manners and pushed the door open.

And froze.

Mikasa was huddled on the floor of the shower with her head down and her arms wrapped around her knees. She’d taken her shoes and mask off and left them discarded by the toilet but her gown was still on, the rich fabric soaked through by the water pelting down from above.

Levi stood there for a moment, riveted, and then, his heart in his throat for a reason he couldn’t quite guess at, he slowly walked forward. He unlaced his dress shoes and took them off, folding his socks inside of them, and then he removed his button-up shirt and draped it on the sink. He left his undershirt and his pants on, and then he padded over and opened the shower door. The water was lukewarm at best, and Levi wondered briefly if she'd intentionally set it that way or if she'd been sitting there long enough for the hot water to run out. Pushing the disconcerting thought away, he knelt down awkwardly in front of her on the cramped shower floor and placed his hand lightly on her arm.

Mikasa started at his touch and raised her head, her eyes going wide as she realized he was in the shower with her. The water had made her mascara run, and the two black tracks looked like tears where they marred her cheeks. Levi tried to brush one of the tracks away but it smudged, leaving a bruise-like mark on her pale skin.

His stomach twisted, and suddenly he knew what he needed to do. “Let’s get you cleaned up,” he murmured against the drone of the water. He stood up, gently pulling her up with him, and then he turned her around and undid the zipper of her sodden gown. Weighted down by the water that had soaked into the fabric, it slid fairly easily off her body as Levi tugged it down.

Mikasa didn’t resist, and she even put her hands on his shoulders for balance when the dress pooled around her ankles so that she could step out of it without losing her balance. When it was all the way off, she just stood there, silent and still, as Levi tossed it out onto the bathroom floor. The soaked garment released a torrent of water all across the tiles when he did, but Levi didn’t care; cleaning the bathroom could wait.

He turned back to Mikasa, hoping for…something, some kind of sign that she was still there, still with him, but her eyes were downcast and her shoulders were slumped forward, so Levi just decided _fuck it,_ and went with his instincts.

His shampoo was masculine but subtle, and he poured out a generous amount of the stuff before he began working it into Mikasa’s dark hair. She still didn’t say anything, but Levi felt slightly encouraged when she tilted her head into his touch ever so slightly and closed her eyes. Carefully and methodically, he rinsed her hair and then followed up with a conditioner, combing through the knots and tangles until the wet strands flowed like silk through his fingers, and then he rinsed her hair once again. Next, he took the washcloth she’d been using off of the small rack in the shower and soaped it up, and then he gently started to run the soapy cloth over her body.

He’d left her bra and panties on, but Mikasa wordlessly reached up and undid the clasp of her bra, letting the skimpy piece of lace fall to the shower floor, and then she slid her underwear down her legs and kicked it off, baring herself to him.

Levi was surprised by that, but he didn’t let it show. He just continued to clean her skin with the washcloth, mindful not to stare at her while he did so. She was beautiful, and it would have been easy to get distracted by the curves and wonders of her body, but he kept his eyes averted and his mind fixed on the task at hand. He washed her from head to toe, even bending down to pick up her feet and clean her heels and soles. Lastly, he wiped the make-up from her face, using just enough pressure to strip away the heavy black lines. She looked more like herself when he was done, but she also looked vulnerable, naked in a way that was more than skin deep. And the look in her dark eyes as she met his gaze…

Levi swallowed. “Come on,” he said as he reached over and turned off the faucet. “Let’s dry you off and get you to bed.”

Once again, Mikasa said nothing, though she let herself be moved and led with Levi’s gentle coaxing. He helped her into an oversized sleep shirt once she was dry and then walked her to her room. He waited patiently until she'd climbed into bed and pulled the covers up to her chin when she made no move to do it herself, effectively tucking her in—something he'd never done for anyone before but strangely found he didn't mind. On his way out, he glanced briefly at the bedside table, where Mikasa had placed her recovered journal and the phone she’d used to upload the file on Fenton Zackly, but he didn’t move either item or ask about them.

They could worry about that – and plan their next steps – in the morning.

He was at the door when Mikasa spoke.

“Levi,” she said quietly. It wasn’t really a question or a statement, just his name.

He turned, waiting.

Mikasa was watching him from beneath the covers, her face just visible above the top of the duvet. “Thank you,” she murmured, the two simple words brimming with emotion.

It was Levi’s turn for silence. He stood there, heart drumming in his chest for a moment, and then he nodded and walked out the door, closing it softly behind him.

It was nearly five in the morning, but after he’d changed into dry clothes and tidied up the bathroom, Levi headed back downstairs and poured himself a drink anyway, tossing the whiskey back and pouring a second helping before he collapsed into one of the kitchen chairs.

_Thank you._

She’s said it so tenderly, so genuinely—and she’d said it to _him_ , a man neck deep in the shitty world she’d just barely managed to escape from. And she’d said it after the ordeal of the Dok party, which made it all the more incredulous.

Nile Dok had abused her before, Levi knew, and the pig had touched her again tonight at the party. Levi had known the second he’d stepped into the study that something had happened, but to his surprise, Mikasa had kept her composure and finished the job as if nothing had happened. She’d receded behind stoicism afterwards, of course, but even then, she hadn’t broken down. Like always, the girl seemed to be unshakeable.

It was only later, when Levi had found her curled into a ball in his shower, that Mikasa had given him a true glimpse at the pain she was carrying within her.

And still, for some baffling reason, she’d let him – the Zackly’s fucking lapdog – care for her. She’d trusted him enough to be completely vulnerable, and she’d _thanked_ him for it, like he fucking deserved her gratitude or some shit. It was mind-boggling.

Over the years, he’d become so wrapped up in his role, in his job, that all the decent parts of him had faded away, and yet somehow, his strange house guest seemed to be reviving tiny shreds of his humanity.

_What are you doing to me, Mikasa?_

The answer eluded him.

Feeling lost and incredibly tired, Levi finished his drink and then slowly pushed back from the table, cleared his glass, and made his way up the stairs and into bed.

 

**

The sun woke Mikasa up, streaming in through the window in painful brightness. Still groggy, she blinked her eyes open, wincing as her eyes began to adjust to the light. Once they did, she sat up and leaned back against the headboard, thinking back to the previous night.

The events unfolded slowly, like a movie in slow motion, starting with the party and her encounter with Nile before moving to everything that had transpired once she and Levi had left the Dok mansion.

_Levi…_

She’d been so lost, so defeated, when he’d found her in the shower. Even the memory of it made her frown. She didn’t know why she’d let him treat her like a child—washing her and dressing her and putting her to bed, but she was devoid of the shame and embarrassment she expected to feel.

What she felt instead was a strange warmth towards the caustic man, along with surprise that she had let him see her in such a fragile state. Usually, she kept her walls up, stayed in character, and above all, kept her distance from anyone that had the potential to be an enemy—potential that the Zackly driver had in spades. Had she been so desperate for catharsis and comfort that she’d forgotten that? Or was it something else that had spurred her to rely on him the previous night, something triggered more by Levi himself than anything else?

The thought was an unsettling one.

It would be much easier to deal with the mission than to confront whatever latent feelings were pushing their way to the surface.

Mikasa took a breath and refocused herself on the task at hand.

She went into the bathroom (which Levi had apparently cleaned meticulously between when she’d passed out and whenever now was) and took her time getting herself together. When she emerged, she felt like a new person—or at least a person ready to tackle the day ahead.

When she walked into the kitchen a few minutes later with the journal and phone in hand, Levi was already there, cooking.

He looked up as she entered. “Morning,” he said, and then turned his attention back to the eggs. He said nothing of what had happened the previous night, although he did seem to be assessing her from the corner of his eye.

“Morning,” Mikasa responded. It was on the tip of her tongue to say something about what had happened hours earlier, but she fought the urge and instead set her journal and phone down and went about brewing a pot of coffee.

Of course, the only reason she was able to do that was because Levi had gotten her a bag of dark roast from the corner store after she’d offhandedly mentioned that she preferred coffee to tea one morning.

The thought clung to her, even when she was seated at the kitchen table, coffee in hand, and Levi had taken the seat across from her.

She picked at the plate of scrambled eggs Levi had set in front of her. “Levi, about...about last night…”

“We don’t need to talk about it, if you don’t want to,” he interjected quickly, sensing her indecision.

“Okay.” Mikasa took a bite of her breakfast, chewing slowly. The eggs were creamy and flavorful, spiced with just enough peppers to add a touch of heat when she swallowed. “Let’s talk about _this_ , then,” she said, sliding the journal and phone forward.

Levi put his fork aside and picked up the journal. He opened it gingerly, as if he were afraid the pages would fall out, and then he drew in a small breath and paused, his eyes lingering on the first page.

Mikasa sensed an indefinable shift in the atmosphere. “Is something wrong?” She asked. The same look of mild distrust she’d seen in Nile’s study was once more flickering in his eyes.

Levi’s expression cleared at her question (almost too quickly, Mikasa thought), and then he turned the page. “No,” he said, but he didn’t offer anything further. He studied the pages carefully, though, taking so much time that Mikasa was sure he was about to tell her that the information she’d gathered wouldn’t be useful.

When he reached her final entry, however, he closed the journal and set it down. “You’ve amassed quite a bit of incriminating information in this little book,” he said. He picked up the phone and once more fell silent as he pulled up the copied file of Fenton Zackly. After a minute, he whistled softly. “Shit,” he said. He looked up at her. “This is definitely enough to start a war between the families.”

A smug sense of satisfaction soaked into Mikasa’s bones. “Good.” It was appeasing to know that the torture of being in Nile Dok’s presence again had paid off.

Levi eyed her in a speculative way, his hooded eyes watching her closely. “So you want to move forward with this.”

“Of course.”

Levi nodded. “All right,” he said. “Then we will. But you should realize that things could get messy. Darius will choose to act on this, I’m sure, but he will also want to know how I acquired this information.”

Mikasa pursed her lips, thinking. “You could tell him the truth,” she suggested. Granted, it would be the truth as Levi knew it and not the actual truth, but her alias’s story was believable enough in its own right. “Withhold my name, but tell him that a former Dok whore is interested in blackmailing the family that abused her.”

A certain amount of wariness crept into Levi’s voice. “I could,” he agreed, “but most girls in your position don’t have the wherewithal to discover accounting discrepancies, let alone keep a detailed paper trail of long term embezzlement. I know Darius. It’s likely that your identity will rouse his suspicion.”

“Don’t tell him I’m a whore, then,” Mikasa amended. “Just tell him that a…disgruntled former Dok accountant is looking to get even with the family that wrongfully terminated him.”

Levi scoffed lightly. “Well, it’s certainly more believable that an accountant would have access to this kind of information, I’ll give you that,” he said. He sighed. “All right. I’m supposed to drive Darius to meet one of his business acquaintances tomorrow night. I’ll hand over everything to him then, and we’ll go with the accountant story. Hopefully he’ll be distracted enough by the content not to give a shit where it came from.”

“Hopefully,” Mikasa agreed. The idea of rousing the suspicion of the single most powerful man in the Sina mafia was unsettling.

They finished their breakfast in silence and then washed their dishes, working in quiet tandem with each other. Levi excused himself afterwards and headed upstairs, taking the journal and phone with him.

Mikasa stayed downstairs for a while, doing small chores and keeping her hands busy to distract herself from thinking. There wasn’t much to do, unfortunately, because Levi was meticulous about his cleanliness and the apartment was more or less spotless, so eventually, she gave up and decided to go see if Levi needed help with anything.

He was sitting on his bed when she knocked on his open door, her journal in his hands. He turned as she entered, putting the small logbook on his bedside table. He looked tired, the circles dark and deep under his eyes, and Mikasa knew she was at fault. After all, he’d stayed up nearly all night to care for her.

“I didn’t mean to bother you,” she said. She was about to ask if he needed anything, but the words stuck in her throat, and she knew why; the question would have been a flimsy excuse to cover the real reason she wanted to talk to him, and she was tired of lying, tired of playing games and skirting around the point.

She straightened up. “What you did for me last night…when you got home…” She swallowed. “Thank you.” Part of her knew she should stop there, but a bigger part of her wanted, needed answers. Levi worked for the Zacklys, and despite what he said, Mikasa knew he wasn’t just a driver. She needed to know why someone with the loyalties he had would do something so kind. She met his eyes. “Why did you take care of me like that?” She asked bluntly. She didn’t want to hurt him, but she needed to understand. She’d lived with men like him for months and never – not even once – had any of them shown her an ounce of the compassion that Levi had.

The driver’s hooded eyes were hard to read. “You were in pain,” he said eventually. He seemed to be about to say something else but he stopped himself, a muscle clenching in his jaw. “You were in pain,” he repeated. “It hurt to see you like that.”

Mikasa felt something flutter in her chest. She took a step into the room. “Why would it hurt you to see my pain?” She pressed.

His eyes weren’t hard to read this time. Levi’s entire expression crumpled, and Mikasa could tell she’d wounded him deeply with her question. He looked away from her, down at his hands. “Despite what I am,” he said softly, “I do still have the capacity to care about people, Mikasa.”

_I care about you._

He hadn’t said it, but he didn’t need to. It was there, between his spoken words, present in every glance and action.

Tears pricked her eyes. _I care about you too, Levi,_ she thought as she blinked to keep the tears at bay and walked over to him. She knew what Erwin would say, knew what Eren would have thought, but she didn’t care. The simple truth was that she wasn’t Mina around Levi—she was herself, and she – Mikasa – had feelings for him. It was wrong and it was doomed and it was going to break her heart, but in that moment, Mikasa couldn’t bring herself to care.

She stopped directly in front of him and then she reached out and brushed his face with her fingertips. Levi looked up at her, surprised, but he didn’t say anything, and Mikasa bent down and kissed him, and then she gently pushed him back on the bed.

Levi’s eyes didn’t leave hers as she crawled atop him, but she did see them close when she leaned in to kiss him again, this time with more urgency. “You’re not a monster, Levi,” she whispered when she pulled back, speaking the words fervently because she knew, instinctively, that he needed to hear them. “You’re human just like me,” she added, and then she was kissing him again, first on the lips and then down his jaw and throat, her hands following after.

It wasn’t like the other times; where she’d sought violence and anger before, she was now slow and tender. She undressed him and removed her own clothes with unhurried leisure, and even when they were pressed skin to skin, she took her time, using soft touches and teasing caresses to build his desire until his steel eyes were dark with need and she could feel her own dampness dripping onto her legs.

When she finally sank down on him, she rode him slowly, deeply, and when Levi reached up and uncertainly placed his hands on her hips, she didn’t push them away. Instead, she laid her own hands over top of his and dug her fingers into his skin, encouraging him to do the same to her. When his tentative grip tightened, she moaned appreciatively and leaned her head back, giving in to the sensations as she started to work herself faster on his cock. Wanting Levi to enjoy it too, so she started squeezing her inner walls around him, bearing down just a little more with every stroke.

Levi groaned when she did, and then he was sitting up, his mouth latching on to the hollow space between her collarbone and neck as his hands moved to her ass. He spread her cheeks apart, his fingers digging into her flesh as he began taking initiative and thrusting up into her a little deeper, although he slowed the pace back down to a slow drag—slow enough that Mikasa could feel every inch of him where he was moving inside of her.

The new angle tore ragged gasps from Mikasa’s throat, and she clutched at him, mouthing at his ear and jaw as her hands gripped his back.

When she began to tremble, Levi caught her mouth with his, and when she came apart on top of him, he deepened the kiss, devouring her soft cries. He came a few heartbeats later, still moving deep and slow inside of her, and Mikasa tangled her fingers in his hair as he shuddered through his release, holding him close.

Afterwards, they lay in a tangle of limbs on his bed, sweaty and satisfied but both too tired to rouse themselves. Levi was sprawled on his back, and Mikasa placed her head against his shoulder, turning her face just enough so that she could study his many tattoos. She began to trace the black designs with her fingers, though she paused her idle ministrations when she reached the words inked above his heart. She’d noticed the tattoo the first time she’d seen him shirtless in the kitchen, but the words were written in a language she didn’t recognize.

She tapped it lightly. “What does this mean?” She asked in a sleepy voice, tipping her chin up a few inches so she could look at him.

Levi glanced down at where her fingers were resting against the words, his mouth twisting slightly. “It’s in my mother’s language,” he revealed softly, and Mikasa saw the way his gaze grew distant, as if he were slipping into a remembered moment at the fringes of his memory. “I got it done years ago, before most of the others.” He paused, his voice getting even softer. “It means ‘ _one day, I’ll be free’_.”

Mikasa looked once more at the black words etched above Levi’s heart, her own aching at the poignancy of their translation. They were full of sentiment and suffering—not at all the standard type of tattoo found on most members of the Mafia.

_How did you end up here, Levi? And why?_

_Why?_

The questions were still swirling around in her mind as she drifted off to sleep.

 

**

Levi watched Mikasa’s chest rise and fall in slumber, one of his hands idly brushing through her hair as he pondered the truth of who she was.

He’d had his suspicions for days, but it was the journal that had given her away in the end. All SC agents – stupidly, in Levi’s opinion – were trained using the same bullshit cookie cutter methods, and Levi had recognized the trademark shorthand immediately. After all, Mikasa wasn’t the first agent to try and pull one over on the infamous Sina families. Levi shuddered as he remembered the last one, a man named Francis who had gone undercover as head chef in the Zackly household.

Darius had fed the man to his pet lion when he’d learned his real identity.

It was no less than what Nile would do if he got his hands on Mikasa. An escaped brothel girl was a mild irritation; an escaped agent with valuable, damning information was a budding catastrophe. If Mikasa had any sense, she would have fled Sina the moment her leg healed up.

But instead she was here, with _him_ , planning to take down the family she’d no doubt been assigned to topple.

Levi knew the game, and he knew it well enough to realize that Mikasa was in over her head. If she were discovered a second time, luck would not be on her side. She would die for an unfulfilled cause, just like Francis, just like countless others before him.

Mikasa shifted in her sleep, nuzzling a bit closer to him, and Levi reflexively wrapped his arm around her. He wanted to protect her and, as pathetic as it was, he wanted her to stay, but those two things were incompatible. As much as he might have wished it otherwise, Mikasa needed to leave Sina – and him – far behind her. He might never be free, but she still had a chance to be, and she needed to take it, his feelings be damned.

With a troubled sigh, Levi closed his eyes and fell into a restless sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the plot thickens (kind of), lol. I'll be honest, I'm pretty unsatisfied with this ending, but I gave up on trying to fix it. I rewrote it four times and nothing was quite what I wanted, so I went with the least offensive (in my opinion) option. Ugh. I hope it reads okay. 
> 
> Anyway, two updates in two weeks! Hope you guys enjoyed it! :)


	9. Match Struck, Fuse Lit

Mikasa tapped her fingers against the counter in idle rhythms as she waited for her coffee to brew, her mind on Levi.

He’d left earlier that morning, off to do whatever Darius Zackly had requested of him for the day, and he’d taken her journal with him. _I’ll show it to him,_ the driver had promised. _We’ll set this thing in motion. Trust me. Darius won’t let this stand._

Mikasa believed him. She wasn’t sure why, truth be told. All her instincts as an agent were screaming at her for entrusting the crux of her mission to a man who worked for the Zacklays—a worse family by far than the Doks.

And yet Levi was somewhat of an enigma. He had been kind when she’d expected brutality, understanding when she’d expected apathy. He didn’t fit the mold she’d seen time and again of men in positions similar to his. He was...different.

Either that, or he was the world's best actor and she was the world's greatest fool. Something told her that that wasn't the case, though.

When the coffee was finished percolating, Mikasa removed the pot and poured herself a cup, breathing in the rich, fragrant scent. It was light roast—her favorite. Levi had bought her a bag a few days ago, though he’d shrugged off her thanks with a ‘ _I was at the market anyway. It’s not like I went out of my way.’_ Regardless, it was another small act of unsolicited kindness.

Still musing, Mikasa took another inhale of blissful coffee flavor, blew gently into the steaming mug, and took a sip.

_Someday, I’ll be free._

Mikasa could empathize with the sentiment of Levi’s tattoo, although she wondered – not for the first time since he’d revealed the meaning of the foreign, inked words – what it meant to him.

_What do you want to be free from, Levi?_

She’d almost asked him, but she’d stopped herself. She was much too invested in him as it was. No reason to dig herself deeper into the mess.

What she _should_ do, after she made certain that Levi had done as he’d promised and shown her journal and the phone to Darius Zackly, was contact Erwin and get the hell out. Staying would be a mistake.

Still, the thought of leaving and not seeing Levi everyday made her indescribably depressed. She’d grown used to his company—and not just because the sex was good (though that didn’t hurt). It was the little things, really. The simple chores they’d started to do together. Cooking. Sitting out in his sorry excuse for a backyard and sharing Titan Reds. Waking up before him in the morning and seeing how peaceful he looked when he was asleep.

Somehow, those stupid little things, those things that didn’t really matter, had become the cornerstone of her days, the foundations for rebuilding and healing her fractured mental state.

Mikasa finished the rest of her coffee in a heavy silence, knowing that the countdown to when this would all be over had already begun. Her time with Levi was coming to an end.

 _It doesn’t matter,_ she told herself as she turned on the kitchen sink and scrubbed out her coffee mug. _This was always about the mission, about avenging Eren and completing what the two of us started. Ending this will be a victory, not a loss._

And yet the sentiment of that truth left her feeling empty.

Still brooding, she turned off the water and placed the mug in the drying rack, then headed upstairs, hoping a shower would revitalize her and improve her mood.

There were two fresh stacks of towels on the bathroom sink with little handwritten notes on top of each of them. The first read: _yours._ The second read: _mine—stop using both sets. I don’t have an endless supply of these things._

Mikasa sighed and picked up the towels Levi had left her, resisting the urge to both roll her eyes and laugh at the ridiculousness of his OCD.

And then, a smirk on her face, she deliberately picked up the towels from Levi's stack and proceeded to use both.

 

**

Nile Dok was livid. Petros was sure of that.

His boss’s face was slowly turning the color of a ripe tomato, and there was an unnaturally large vein bulging above his left eye. And if that wasn’t a clear enough sign that the head of the Dok family was irate, the next words out of his mouth certainly were.

“That fucking whore,” he spat. He pounded his fist on the surface of his desk with such force that Petros had to resist the urge to wince. “The nerve of her…coming back here…pretending to be some rich slut…and stealing the contents of _that_ file…” Nile ran a hand through his thinning hair and then fixed his harsh gaze on Petros. “Take three of our best men and track her down, do you hear me?”

Petros nodded in silent subservience and then held his breath as Nile marched around the side of his desk and came to stand directly in front of him. “You saw the footage, correct?”

“Yes, boss,” Petros replied. “I saw it.”

Nile sneered, but there was no humor in the gesture, only malice. “Yeah. Little cunt didn’t realize I had cameras installed in here. Well, she’ll live to regret it.” Once more he focused in on Petros. “You saw the footage, so you know what information she took. And you know what will happen if she hands it over to the Zacklays.”

Petros swallowed. “Yes, boss.”

Nile’s eyes were like shards of ice. “So when I tell _you_ —“ he punctuated the word by jabbing his finger into Petros’s chest— “that you _will_ be successful in bringing that two-bit fucktoy back here, alive, along with the phone she scanned my documents to, you understand the gravity of that, correct?”

“I do, boss. Yes.”

Nile stepped back. “Good. Get to it.”

“Boss—?”

Nile raised an eyebrow, but it was anything but a patient gesture. “What?”

“Where would you like us to look for her, sir? She could have gone anywhere.”

At this, Nile Dok did smile, and it was unsettling. He reached back to his desk and spun his laptop around. “See him?” He asked, gesturing to a freeze frame of a short, dark-haired man conversing with the girl Nile had called a great many names over the past few minutes. “He works for Darius, and I happen to have his address.” Nile wrote it down on a slip of paper and handed it to Petros. “If he is there when you go for the girl, kill him. He knows too much and his loyalty lies with Darius. Understood?”

“Yes, boss.”

“Good. Now get out.”

Petros moved with surprising speed for a man of his size and strode out of the boss’s office, already calculating who would be best for a mission like this.

By the time he’d made it to the main wing of the house, he had a team in mind. They were the best and the cruelest, and they would not fail.

 

**

Darius Zackly closed the journal, placed the phone on top of it, and pushed his chair back from his desk. With slow steps, he walked over to the side table, prepared a glass with two ice cubes, and selected a scotch from his collection. He poured his drink in silence and swished it around, watching the ice cubes bob in the amber liquid. Then he took a long, lingering sip and turned to face his driver.

“You were right to bring this to me,” he said. His voice was even and controlled and did not project the rage he was feeling.

The short man nodded. “I owed it to you and the Zackly family. What the Doks have done is unpardonable.”

Darius took another drink. “Indeed,” he said, appraising Levi as he swallowed. The man was a loyal driver and a useful bruiser, but Darius could smell a lie in his story. “I want to meet this accountant,” he said. “To thank them for their service to my family.”

Levi didn’t so much as blink. “Of course. I will arrange it as soon as I can.”

Darius looked at the driver for another moment, finished his drink, and then set the empty glass down on the table. “That can wait until after, though,” he added.

“After, sir?”

“The Doks must pay. They murdered my son and heir, and now I will have theirs.”

Darius sat down heavily in his desk chair, leaning back into the leather and steepling his fingers together, feeling his calm façade beginning to fade. He pressed the pads of his fingers together until the nails turned white with strain. “We will hit them swiftly and with our full force,” he decreed, his chest swelling with the relish of impending war. “It will be a massacre, merciless and bloody. I want everyone with the surname Dok dead by the end of it. With one exception: I want Nile for myself—father to father.”

“Understood, sir.”

“We cannot wait on this, either, Levi. It will not take Nile long to realize that information this sensitive and damning has been compromised. We must retaliate before he has time to prepare a defense. You and Gavin will be in charge, and the attack will take place at dawn the morning after next, before the city wakes up. You will take all of our men except my personal retinue of guards.”

Finally, Levi’s deliberately neutral expression cracked slightly. “All, sir?”

“Everyone,” Darius said heavily. “I told you, Levi, this will be a massacre. They killed the son I loved. I will not sleep easily again until I have avenged him and the streets are covered in Dok blood. You will take the full power of the Zackly force and slaughter every man, woman, and child in the Dok house except for Nile himself. Is that clear?”

“Sir, the women and children—”

Darius shut him down. “ _All_ , Levi. Betrayal of this nature reaps an equally brutal response. Do not presume to question me.”

“Yes, sir. It will be done.”

“Good. And Levi, you have done well. I will not forget that, when this is done.”

Levi inclined his head. “Thank you, sir.”

“Go.”

The driver went, and Darius ordered one of his guards to bring him a girl. The whore was young—blonde and pretty with a smile that radiated sweetness and innocence and softness.

For two hours, Darius unleashed his grief and rage on her until she was none of those things any longer, and then he ordered his men to clean up the mess.

 

**

Levi was late, so Mikasa poured herself another glass of wine and put the sauce on medium heat to warm it back up. It had been an easy day, and would have been a restful one if it hadn’t been for the waiting. Questions plagued her every minute: had Levi given Darius Zackly her journal and the file? Had Zackly believed him? How would he respond? And when?

The turmoil of not knowing the answers had been building in her all day—hence the wine.

Which was why, three glasses in, it took Mikasa a moment to register the sound of footsteps on the front steps of the apartment.

Her reflexes kicked in despite the dulling effects of the wine, and she was on her feet with two kitchen knives in hand when the first of the men knocked the front door in and barged into the kitchen.

“She’s ar—!” The one in front started to say, but Mikasa silenced him with two expert thrusts of the knives. The next man was on her before she had time to prepare, and he brought her down to the floor beneath his bulk, but Mikasa kept her cool, gritted her teeth, and worked her right arm free.

Bending her right arm awkwardly and twisted her body just enough, she managed to bring the one knife she’d kept a hold of straight down into back of the large man's neck. A moment later, he went limp and Mikasa rolled out from under him.

She regained her feet and backed towards the stove, counting the men now flooding into the room.

 _Too many,_ she realized with cold clarity. _There are too many of them._

And worse yet, she recognized some of them.

_Dok men!_

Panic threatened to consume her, but by sheer force of will she managed to retain her composure.

She needed to create an escape route for herself, but both viable exits were blocked by men, and all of the big brutes were closing in on her. She had seconds at best.

_Think, think, think._

A crazy idea came to her. Mikasa wheeled around and grabbed the large pot of sauce from the stove top and, in one quick motion, flung the pot's contents at the man closest to the back door.

The hot liquid splashed all over his face and chest and he screamed, stumbling back into the wall as he desperately wiped at his exposed skin.

Which was when Mikasa dropped the pot, lunged for the door, and managed to scramble outside.

She had made it all the way to the fence when the bullet caught her in the leg. She cried out and pitched forward, and then there was a boot on her back.

“Don’t move, or the next bullet will go in your skull.”

There were others out in the yard now, surrounding her, and Mikasa knew it was over. She could feel her heart pounding in her ears and hear the muted cries of the man inside the apartment, and there were spots dancing in front of her eyes. Her leg was throbbing and she could feel blood running warm and sticky down the back of her calf.

She didn't care. The only thing that mattered was that she could not go back to the Doks. She wouldn't. Death was favorable by far compared to being placed back under the control of Nile Dok.

She breathed in the dirt and grass beneath her and closed her eyes. “Do it,” she said to the man standing above her. “Kill me.”

A chuckle came as her response. “Sorry, sweetheart. You’re coming in alive. Boss’s orders.”

And then Mikasa felt a sharp blow to the back of her head and her freedom and consciousness were both snuffed out.

 

 **

Levi knew the worst had happened before he even turned into his driveway.

There was a crowd of people out front, pointing and gasping.

Levi pulled up and blared his horn, making them jump. They dispersed, but only enough to let him squeeze through.

Heart sinking, Levi walked into the tornado zone that was his apartment. The place had been completely ransacked. Everything was ruined.

And he knew why. Clearly, the Doks had put figured out he and Mikasa were the ones who had stolen the damning evidence. They'd probably come as much to retrieve the phone as to kill him.

But Levi found he didn’t give a shit about that. There was only one thing he cared about in that moment.

There was no point in calling for her because he knew – he _knew ­_ – she was gone.

Still, he did. “Mikasa?”

There was, of course, no answer. He found the bodies in the kitchen, and, strangely, what looked like tomato sauce splashed across the floor and far wall, along with the shredded, confetti remains of all the papers and bills he'd had on his desk in the corner. Leaving the mess, he ran upstairs, taking the steps three at a time.

Shredded bedding, papers everywhere, weapons gone, no Mikasa.

In the distance, Levi heard sirens.

Cursing, he zipped back downstairs and sprinted out the front door, barreling into the crowd of gawking onlookers that were in his way.

He threw the car in reverse and backed out of the yard just as the police showed up, and then he put the car in gear and burned a patch of rubber in his wake as he floored it, leaving the shouting policemen behind him.

He drove until he reached the outskirts of town, and then he pulled into the parking lot of a long-condemned restaurant and turned off the ignition.

_Mikasa…_

She was probably dead already.

And if she wasn’t, she would be soon.

_You will slaughter every man, woman, and child in the Dok house._

Levi pounded his fists on the steering wheel.

Either the Doks would kill her, or the Zacklys would. She was caught in the middle of a fucking deathtrap.

_This is my fault. My fucking fault._

He should have made her leave. He shouldn’t have been so fucking selfish.

Levi sat there, hating himself, for a long time, and then he reached into his glove compartment and pulled out his spare cellphone. He plugged the clunky thing's charger into the car's cigarette lighter, waited for the battery light to click on, and then powered the phone up.

There was only one saved number on the burner phone, and it was one he hadn’t used in a long time.

Knowing he had no other options, Levi dialed it.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! It's been a long time, I know. I wrote literally nothing for months, and then I cranked this baby out in a few hours this morning. It will hopefully not take me as long to upload the next chapter, but ya never know. I really enjoy writing, and I miss it. If life were perfect, there would be plenty of hours in the day to just chill and work on fanfics. But alas...
> 
> Anyway, I hope you guys enjoyed this/ are still reading! Please feel free to leave a comment and say hello. I miss talking to you peeps.


	10. Back to Hell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning: this is _very_ violent and delves into depictions of torture. Reader discretion is advised.
> 
> (If you are sensitive, skip to the end. I'm going to do a chapter recap there.)

Mikasa had been through more than her fair share of traumatic life experiences. In fact, she’d endured a lion’s share. She’d lost her parents to violent deaths at a young age, begged on the streets for food and clothes—and sometimes done more than begged when begging wasn't enough. She’d found an adoptive brother and thought for a second that the tide of her life was changing...only to lose him to another bloody end. She’d been raped and abused and treated like the muck people cleaned off of their boots. And somehow, _somehow,_ she’d survived it all, had proven to herself and to the rest of the sick world she lived in that she was a fighter who was made of something stronger than the sum of the horrors that had shaped her life.

Until now.

As Mikasa gazed up at Nile Dok’s face looming once more above her, she felt something she’d never felt before in her entire life—not even at her weakest, most broken moments.

Her resilience deserted her.

And the smile – the cracked, leering grin – that widened the maw on Nile’s face proved that he knew it.

“What, not so feisty anymore?” He asked as he bent down next to where she currently lay sprawled on the floor. He fisted a hand in her hair and yanked her head up, the motion so violent that Mikasa felt some of her hair tear out at the roots. “What’s the matter, Mina?” He asked once his face was inches from hers. “Don’t like being back in your old clothes and shoes? Don’t like being back under my thumb?” He punctuated the snarled question with a harsh dig of his thumb against her chin, no doubt adding one more bruise to the myriad of black and blue he’d already branded her body with since her return to his estate.

Mikasa said nothing. With a huff, Nile released her hair and shoved her back with such a brutal, unexpected kick that Mikasa cracked her head against the ground as she collapsed. She winced involuntarily against the wave of fresh, pulsing pain.

Nile only laughed in response and gestured two of his men forward. “Tie her down.”

They did, making sure to grope and grab whatever they felt entitled to as they affixed ropes to her hands and feet and secured them to the bolts that had been added to the floor of Nile’s office especially for her.

Mikasa did nothing to stop the brutes as they manhandled her, but when she closed her eyes to shut them out she heard Nile bark an order and one of his underlings slapped her across the face.

“Boss wants your eyes open, girl.”

Enervated completely, Mikasa did as requested, releasing the tears her lashes had held back.

“Go get Cletus,” Nile ordered. “It’s time I introduce Mina to a new friend.”

The relish in Nile’s voice spurred no reaction from Mikasa. She knew Cletus was going to further hurt and abuse her, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. She'd already been stripped and beaten, had already had the bullet wound in her leg aggravated with the work of a knife. It was only when one of Nile's men piped up to say _she's gonna bleed out if you keep going at this rate_ that the method of torture had been amended.

The knives had been temporarily put away, and Nile Dok had ordered his men to have their fun while he watched. No one had stuck their dick inside of her (Nile had reserved that right for himself somewhere down the line), but the thugs had been surprisingly creative when it came to what _else_ they could accomplish. Even now, hours later, Mikasa was still bleeding between her legs, and the skimpy lingerie that the crime boss had dressed her up in when his right-hand man - by the far the most degraded of the group - was done assaulting her was soiled with blood.

_You like this, you fucking cunt? My gun sure does. C'mon, coat it with some more girly blood for good luck..._

She'd been back in Nile's clutches for just over twenty-four hours and she'd already been physically, sexually, and verbally abused so severely that reality itself seemed to be slipping away. Nile had taken everything from her in his attempts to crack her, even the last vestige of her dignity. And now her will was gone as well. Mikasa had nothing left except her silence. The only saving grace she could cling to was that eventually, her body would succumb and she would die and it would be over. There would be no more Nile, no more anything.

Death would give her a way out.

Strangely, the meaning of the words inked above Levi’s heart came back to her: _one day, I’ll be free._

Well, now it was her day. Freedom was just a flatline away. 

“Ah, Cletus. Good.”

Mikasa couldn't see the man in question as he entered the room, so she was resigned to watching Nile as he adjusted his leather chair and reclined in it, folding one leg over the other in exaggerated leisure. “This is Mina,” he told the newcomer, gesturing unnecessarily to Mikasa’s inert form. “She stole something from me and caused me a great deal of trouble. And even after my generous hospitality, she’s refused to give me any information. I’d like you to help her change her mind.”

It was then that Mikasa got her first glimpse of Cletus as the thug stepped into her line of limited vision.

He was not what she would have expected, and that somehow made it worse. He was small and thin, with carefully styled hair and an outfit to match. He looked refined, cultured,  _professional._

Cletus moved until he was standing directly above her head, and then his full lips pulled up in a cold smile—a coldness heightened by the dead look in his dark eyes. “My pleasure,” he said, his voice saccharine in a way that roused a swell of nausea in Mikasa.

He knelt down beside her, almost gracefully, and then he leaned in and licked one of the tears off of her face. “Nice to meet you, Mina,” he whispered against her ear. “My, don't you taste nice.”

Suddenly, a pair of pliers appeared in his hand. Giving her another cold smile, Cletus slowly dragged the tip of the pliers down her neck and shoulder and then, just as slowly, he trailed them down her left arm until he reached her hand, a chilling mockery of a lover's touch.

Mikasa knew with dread certainty what was coming.

From his chair, Nile asked the questions he’d asked her before. “Let’s try this again, Mina. Where is the phone? And where is the driver?”

Resigned to her fate, Mikasa said nothing.

Nile gave a curt nod, and Cletus placed the pliers beneath the edge of her index finger.

He smiled. “And this little piggy…”

Mikasa screamed when he ripped the fingernail off, her whole body jerking as she reflexively tried to move away from the pain and from Cletus.

Both men laughed in the face of her anguish.

And then, like a song stuck on repeat, Nile began again. “Okay, let’s try once more. Where is the phone, Mina? Where is the driver?”

Trembling, sweat pouring down her bare spine, Mikasa once more held her tongue.

Cletus moved on to the next finger.

 

**

Darius Zackly watched from the balcony on the upper level of his expansive inner courtyard as Levi quietly and efficiently went over the plan of attack with the men below. The driver was standing before the guns-for-hire with his hands clasped behind his back, giving orders with the ease of a practiced commanding officer, and it was easy to see the deference and respect all of the others had for him.

The scene made Darius’s frown deepen, and the thought that had been nagging at him earlier was solidifying into a cold certainty.

The driver was not who and what he claimed to be.

He hadn’t been completely honest and forthright earlier about the phone and how he’d acquired it, Darius was sure of that, and now he’d assumed command like he was donning a suit he’d worn many times before. Additionally, the driver had been an hour late on this most crucial day and, while he'd given the excuse of his apartment being ransacked as the reason, Darius was far from convinced. The man was concealing something and that would not stand.

Darius understood men who kept their secrets and men who were reticent to share more than was needed, but he couldn’t abide men like that in his household—no matter how much his disappointment of a son liked them. Something would need to be done about the driver, and soon. And as for Vincent, well, he would just have to cope.

“Papa?”

 _Speak of the imbecile._ “What do you need, Vincent?” He asked as his remaining son and heir joined him on the balcony. “We are in the middle of preparations here and I do not have the time to deal with your petty affairs at the moment.”

Vincent made a face. “My affairs are not _petty_ , Papa,” he whined. “You’d know that if you paid any attention to—”

Darius held up a hand. “Vincent.” It was a warning. There wouldn’t be another.

Wisely, his son held his tongue.

“Now, I’ll ask again: what do you need?”

Vincent took a breath. “I would like to go with you and the others to the Dok estate. I’m asking your permission to act as your right hand and be there when you crush them.”

Darius felt a stir of something akin to pride at his son’s show of bravado and loyalty, but he tamped it down. “No,” he said simply. “You will stay here.”

“But Papa!”

“No.” For the first time since Vincent had joined him in the courtyard, Darius turned and looked his son straight in the eye. “You are my only remaining heir. Allowing you to join me is nothing but foolish. What would happen if both of us were killed, hm? Control of the family business would fall to my cousin, and the Zackly name would fall into obscurity.” Darius’s mouth twisted at the thought. “That cannot happen.”

Vincent’s normally liquor-glazed eyes were surprisingly clear. “I would stand by you and protect you, Papa. None of those fucking dogs would lay a hand on you if I were there. I swear it.”

Darius regarded his son’s earnest face for a moment more and then turned away. “My decision is final. Respect it.”

He sensed, more than saw, Vincent deflate. “As you wish, Papa,” he muttered, and then, like a pup with its tail tucked between its legs, Vincent sulked off.

 _If only Fenton had lived,_ Darius thought wistfully. His older son was twice the man his younger son could ever hope to be.

But Vincent was all he had left, and he would protect the little fool because of it. When it was his turn to take over the business, there would be a team of carefully chosen advisors to help him navigate the complex waters of all the Zackly business affairs. Whether or not Vincent would ever learn and mature enough to run the family on his own remained a mystery, but at least the Zackly name would live on.

_Unlike the Dok name._

Darius’s gaze drifted down once more to the men below him, his eyes homing in on Levi’s short but cutting figure.

There were too many unknowns when it came to the driver, too many red flags; as good as Levi was at his job, he was a wild card, and that made him a liability.

It was in that moment that Darius made a decision.

When all was said and done and the Doks were dead, Levi would join them.

 

**

She didn’t know how long she’d been alone. It seemed strangely quiet, almost peaceful, as she lay there bleeding on the floor of Nile’s office. There was a throbbing pain in her left hand, a dull ache between her legs, and a roaring headache stemming from the very back of her skull where she’d impacted the floor earlier, but it was all peripheral, ephemeral. Initially, the pain had been agonizing, but now Mikasa could barely feel a thing, as if her pain receptors had gotten so taxed that they had simply given up.

Much like the rest of her.

She still hadn’t answered any questions, though. Might as well piss Nile off in the one way she still could. She was going to be killed anyway; the least she could do was give him a reason to spit on her grave instead of smile over it.

As if on cue, the office door opened and her small, fleeting bubble of serenity was punctured.

_Oh, well. Here comes more of the same._

Mikasa wouldn’t have even acknowledged her tormentors’ reentry if it hadn’t been for the frightened, female voice.

“Please let me go, sir! Please, I’ll be good, I swear!”

At that, Mikasa’s eyes snapped opened and she pushed herself up on her forearms, looking on in horror as she saw Cletus march back over, manhandling a shaking Lydia in front of him.

 _Not her,_ Mikasa thought with a distraught pang. _Please not her._

Nile walked in behind the duo, a smug grin on his face. “I hope you enjoyed your rest, Mina. I thought that, since you're our guest of honor at the moment, I’d take the time to reunite you with an old friend.”

The shaking eighteen-year-old locked eyes with Mikasa, her own blue ones wide and terrified. “Mina,” she sobbed. “Oh, Mina, I’m sorry.”

Mikasa’s heart twisted, but she didn’t say anything. She couldn’t.

Nile didn’t suffer from the same reticence. “Still not talkative? Well, let’s see if we can change that. It’s time to try a new tactic.”

With that, he nodded to Cletus.

The posh man smiled and roughly shoved the scared girl to the floor.

Lydia fell to her hands and knees, gasping, but before she could recover, Cletus sent her sprawling with a heavy boot to the spine.

Mikasa pulled against her restraints, her bones flooding with guilt and rage as she watched the way her helpless friend was abused.

“Where did you hide the phone, Mina?” Nile pressed. “Where is the driver? Who else knows about the contents of that file?”

“Go to hell, Nile.”

The crime boss inclined his head to Cletus, who in turn rained down a series of brutal kicks on a screaming, writhing Lydia.

Mikasa continued to pull against her restraints, ignoring the biting pain lancing into her wrists as the rope chafed against her skin. “Stop!” She yelled. “She has nothing to do with this!”

Nile didn’t so much as blink. “Then give me my information.”

“I…” Mikasa hesitated. Perhaps Levi had come through and the Zacklys were already preparing their retribution. In that case, it wouldn’t matter if she gave up the information, would it? She'd given him a window of opportunity; that had to count for something. And even if Levi hadn’t been successful, maybe if she told Nile that the Zacklys knew the truth about Fenton, the Doks would strike first to protect themselves from the coming onslaught. The war would still happen.

_And how will you feel if Levi gets caught in the middle? What will you do if you have no way to warn him and he ends up dead?_

The troubling thought deepened Mikasa's uncertainty. She shouldn’t care about the driver, but she did. Putting his life in danger because she hadn’t stuck to the plan left her with a sour taste in her mouth.

And her hesitation earned Lydia another brutal kick to the ribs. There was a sick-sounding crunch and the young girl yelped in agony.

“Okay!” Mikasa squeezed her eyes shut, trying to master her emotions. “You want the truth? Well, here it is. I _gave_ the phone to the Zacklys’ driver,” she said, taking a gamble. “He’s probably already given it to Darius, which means you’re screwed, _Nile._ ”

At that, Nile howled in anger. He strode forward and grabbed one of the pokers sitting idly by the fireplace. Turning on his heel, he jabbed it towards her, his arm shaking like a madman's. “Don’t you get smug with _me,_ whore!” He shouted.

Mikasa wasn’t afraid. She looked him square in the eye and spit on the floor at his feet.

The anger in Nile's eyes became crazed, and then, with a snarl, he stabbed Mikasa in the shoulder. Teeth clenched with rage and exertion, Nile twisted the poker beneath her skin, widening the wound, and Mikasa and Lydia both screamed. Then, with a heavy grunt, Nile withdrew the iron tool and nodded to Cletus. “Get her friend on her feet,” he barked.

Cletus grabbed Lydia and jerked her up, holding her securely as Nile sidled towards her.

Mikasa’s eyes widened, her own pain forgotten. “No!” She screamed. “I gave you what you wanted! I told you the truth!”

Tears were pouring down Lydia’s pale face. “Mina,” she choked. “Please…”

“Leave her alone!” Mikasa screamed, once more yanking on her bonds. But it was no use; she was making progress but she was too weak to rip free.

_I promised her that I would make Nile pay. I promised her!_

Nile placed the edge of the bloody poker against Lydia’s breast. The girl struggled madly, but Cletus was surprisingly strong for his lean frame and her thrashing was in vain.

“Please,” Mikasa echoed, now supplicant because she had no other alternative. “Please don’t hurt her,” she begged.

_I should have taken her with me that night. I shouldn’t have waited. I promised her, and now…_

“Please,” she begged again.

Nile looked down at her, and, holding her gaze, he jabbed the poker into Lydia’s chest.

“Lydia!” Mikasa screamed.

_I promised._

The girl’s eyes went wider than they already were and then she slumped over, boneless in a way that only the dead could be. Without ceremony, Cletus let Lydia's body fall to the floor, leaving the poker protruding from her chest.

“Now it’s your—” Nile began.

The office doors burst open and one of the men that had abducted Mikasa from Levi’s apartment appeared, looking decidedly panicked. “Sorry to interrupt, Mr. Dok, but we’re—we’re under attack.”

Nile reeled. “What?” He breathed.

“The Zacklys…they’re here, sir. And they’re armed.”

“Fuck!” Nile’s thin air of composure was gone in a second. “Round everyone up and call for my car. Cletus, kill the whore.” His gaze briefly dropped to Mikasa again. “And make it hurt.”

With that, he strode from the room with the other man, leaving Mikasa and Cletus alone.

 

**

Nile couldn’t believe how quickly it had all turned to shit. The outside guards were all dead and he could hear gunfire and screams coming from the foyer. And when he opened the service door to the kitchen…

“Fucking hell!” He roared, stumbling back in shock.

The Zacklys had even massacred his kitchen staff.

Nile had always known Darius was not a man to be trifled with, but this level of slaughter was something he hadn’t expected.

He had to get out of there.

Moving as quietly and quickly as he could, Nile made his way to the back portion of the house and sprinted up the grand staircase. He’d initially thought to take his car, but judging from the carnage he’d seen near the entryway, his driver was most likely already dead.

He would have to escape via another route.

“Darius, please!”

The familiar voice made Nile freeze in his tracks.

_Marie._

He’d forgotten that his wife was at home.

“Darius!” She cried again, her voice echoing up the staircase to Nile.

The gunshot pierced Nile to his core.

“Fuck you, Darius,” he muttered under his breath as he resumed running. “Fuck you a million times over.”

He shouldn’t have stopped at Fenton Zackly. He should have killed the whole goddamn family when he’d had the chance.

Still reeling from the loss of Marie, Nile barged back into his office. His personal guards were MIA, so he’d have to settle for Cletus as a—

“What the hell?”

Nile paused two steps into the office, his gaze riveted to Cletus. The man was sprawled on the floor, his head twisted at an unnatural angle, the fire poker speared up through his neck and mouth and out the top of his head.

He looked like a fucking shish kabob, and he was very, _very_ dead.

The door closed behind him, and it was only then that Nile realized Mina was no longer tied to the floor like she had been when he’d left.

He turned around as the hair rose on his neck—

—and her kick sent him careening to the floor.

“Hello, dog,” Mina said as she fell on him.

Nile fought back with everything he had, his panic rising as he realized that despite how she looked, Mina was _strong._ Much stronger than he anticipated. With a scream, he dug his blunt nails into her face and yanked down, rewarded by a sharp gasp and the sight of blood as she jerked back. He used that to his advantage, shoving her forward and rolling on top of her, except that Mina was faster and she rolled out of the way just in time, spinning around until she captured one of his flailing arms between her legs. Then, with his arm pinned between her thighs and her heels digging into his back, Mina bent backwards until…

Nile saw stars as he heard the bone snap, and then, as though he were having an out of body experience, he looked over and saw – he fucking _saw_ – his elbow sticking out through his skin.

“What the fuck…” he rasped.

Mina rolled him onto his back and straddled him. She was holding one of her ridiculous high-heels in her hand, and before he could react she brought the stiletto to his throat. “Don’t move,” she cautioned.

Nile didn’t.

“I’ve waited for this moment,” she said above him. Her voice was ice, her eyes were hellfire. “I’ve dreamed about it.”

Slowly, she lowered her hips to his and rubbed against him. “Do you like that, Nile? Doesn’t it feel nice?”

Nile bucked, trying to get away from her.

Mina pressed the heel of the shoe into his skin, drawing blood.

“You’re not going anywhere,” she said. “We have some scores to settle.”

“What the fuck are you talking about, you crazy c—”

Quick as lightning, Mina removed the stiletto from his neck and brought it down beneath his collarbone, puncturing his lung.

Nile gurgled blood as his eyes widened in horror.

“That’s for Lydia,” Mina said. She ripped the shoe free from his skin, blood sprinkling her face as she did so.

Then she moved the stiletto to his abdomen.

Nile tried to speak but only a gibbet of blood came out of his mouth.

Mina brought the shoe down again, and Nile did manage to scream then, a bloody howl fueled by unmitigated anguish he had never felt before. “This—” Mina continued as she _raked_ the shoe through his insides “—is for Eren.” She pulled it out, and it was only the shock that kept Nile from passing out as he saw the bit of intestine that clung to the once-shiny heel.

Mina placed the stiletto above his heart. “And this,” she said as she slowly sank her weight onto the heel and down into his body, her voice no more than a whisper, “is for me.”

By the time the shoe rested flush against his chest and the entire stiletto was embedded in his heart, Nile was already dead.

 

**

Mikasa watched as the light faded from Nile Dok’s eyes, and then she took a second to relish the look of acute horror etched onto his dead face.

“You deserved even worse,” she said aloud, and then she took a steadying breath and rolled off of the corpse.

The strength and adrenaline that had fueled her since Lydia’s death was fading again, and Mikasa knew it was only a matter of time before she collapsed.

Which meant that she had to act now. If she stayed here, she would die.

With some effort, she heaved Nile’s bulk over. She’d noticed a gun tucked into the waistband of his pants earlier, and it would be a good idea to have a weapon when she—

The door opened once more, and Mikasa came face to face with someone she had not expected to see.

Darius Zackly.

He moved into the room, looking from her to Nile’s corpse and back again, an expression of profound surprise on his face. And then his eyes narrowed. “You did this?” He asked.

Mikasa nodded, and then she felt herself go pale as two Zackly men stepped into the room behind the notorious crime boss. The first she didn’t recognize, but the second…

_Levi._

“I’m sure you had your reasons for killing him,” Darius Zackly continued, “but I’m afraid you’ve robbed me of my revenge.” His voice deepened, taking on an edge of authority. “Gavin. Levi.”

Wordlessly, both men aimed their already drawn guns at her.

The sense of betrayal hit Mikasa harder than she thought it would as she looked up the barrel of the gun that Levi had trained on her. When she met the driver's eyes, they were blank, emotionless.

_I thought you were different, Levi. I really did._

She was a fool.

“Hold steady,” Darius said. He drew his own gun and pointed it straight at Mikasa’s head. “I’ll take this one.”

She was dead and she knew it, but that didn't mean she couldn't try and take Darius Zackly with her.

Knowing she had nothing left to lose, Mikasa lunged forward, her hand closing around the gun tucked into Nile’s pants.

She was too slow.

The shot was fired before she pulled the weapon free.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter recap: Mikasa is interrogated by Nile Dok and his men for information and tortured when she refuses to answer any of their questions. Eventually, Nile brings in one of Mikasa's former friends (the prostitute Lydia) and tortures and kills the girl in front of Mikasa, just as the Zacklys arrive. The Zacklys are winning and Nile decides to flee for his life. Before he can, Mikasa kills him, and Darius walks in, followed by Levi and Gavin. Darius orders his men to pull their guns on Mikasa and he pulls his own weapon, prepared to kill her for taking away his chance at revenge. Desperate, Mikasa lunges for a weapon of her own, but she is too slow. A shot is fired and the outcome is (currently) ambiguous. 
> 
> TL;DR
> 
> I know, I know. I finally write something after months of inactivity and it's _this_. No RM interaction, heaps of violence and torture, and a cliffhanger. I suck. (Lol no really, I'm aware of it and I'm kind of unhappy with the whole chapter to be perfectly honest). There are only two more chapters to go, and I am already working on the next one, so hopefully that will be up soon. 
> 
> Of all the chapters I've written so far, this one was by FAR the hardest for me to get through. I've been so removed from this story because I've been away/ traveling and not thinking about fandom stuff that coming back into it at such a pivotal, action-based chapter made me want to pull my hair out. I hope it's not rubbish, but if it is, all I can say is that I hope you stick with me because the next chapter is already coming easier now that I've rediscovered my voices for this story and gotten through my rough patch.
> 
> Hope you are all doing well, btw! <3


	11. How It Actually Is

It all happened within the span of a few seconds.

Mikasa heard the gunshot ring out and then, with a startled gasp, Darius Zackly crumpled to the ground.

While he was still falling, there was another shot followed by a grunt, and then a third and final shot.

By then Mikasa had pulled Nile’s gun free, but when she raised it she found that there was only one man left standing to aim at.

Darius Zackly was dead, blood pooling beneath his limp body, and Gavin was as well, done in by a clean shot through the head.

Which left Levi, standing in the middle of the carnage, his gun in his right hand and his left hand clutching his bleeding shoulder.

He seemed to be in some pain, but that didn’t stop him from laying his gun on the ground and kicking it towards her.

Which was when Mikasa realized she had her own weapon pointed at Levi.

She lowered it. “You…” She faltered, still reeling from what had just happened. “You killed your boss. You killed Darius Zackly.”

Levi grunted. “And you killed Nile Dok.” His gaze flickered to the corpse – hovering on the stiletto speared into the man’s heart – before he looked back at her. Gone was his impassive mask, and in its place, Mikasa could discern pain and something that looked like guilt. “I’m sorry,” he said at length. “There was no way to extract you, but I…” His brows drew together. “I did try, Mikasa. I really did. And they should have fucking been here by now.”

Mikasa didn’t understand his apology, and she was too dazed and weak to dwell on the fact that what he was saying didn’t make much sense. “Levi, it’s not your fault. I never expected you to…extract me,” she said, settling on echoing his own phrase. “And I certainly didn’t expect you to do what you just did.”

Something broke in Levi’s eyes at that. “What—you thought I’d let Darius kill you?” He scoffed, the sound one of deep self-deprecation. “Guess I really do know how to hide my feelings.”

“Levi, that’s not what I—”

“It’s fine. I’d think the same thing if I were in your shoes.” He moved towards her then, stopping in front of her. “C’mon, let’s get you out of here.”

With trembling hands, Mikasa unstrapped her remaining stiletto and took the proffered hand, then winced as she realized she’d used her wounded arm. With a grimace, she switched to her other arm and Levi gingerly helped her to her feet. Mikasa tried to hide how much pain she was in, but the look in Levi’s eyes told her she wasn’t doing a very convincing job.

The driver’s gaze roved over her, his expression darkening as it took in each successive injury, and then he whistled through his teeth. “Fuck, Mikasa, it’s a miracle you’re even alive. Whatever you did to Nile, he deserved worse.”

Mikasa wrapped her arms around herself. “Yes, he did,” she murmured darkly. _He deserved to die a thousand deaths for all of the travesties he’s committed._

She looked down at the corpse once more. “But at the end of the day, dead is dead.”

Levi gave a mirthless chuckle. “That it is,” he agreed. He brushed a tendril of matted hair from her face, and despite the situation and their surroundings, there was something almost tender in the gesture. “Nile messed with the wrong fucking woman, that’s for damn sure.”

Mikasa managed to muster a tepid smile in response, warmed by the respect in Levi’s tone.

And then, not quite knowing what spurred her to ask but knowing she needed an answer, Mikasa blurted out, “Why, Levi? Why did you risk your own life – and take a bullet in the arm – to save me? I’m just some Dok whore, after all.”

“Don’t say that.” Disgust lanced across Levi’s expression. “Don’t even think it.” He reached up and gently cradled her face with his hand, brushing his thumb against the cheek that wasn’t marred by fingernail tracks. “You are far from that, Mikasa. You’re…” He sighed, letting his hand fall away from her face. “Never mind. Now’s not the time.”

Mikasa was about to say something, wanted to, but then Levi was moving away and the moment was broken. He bent down and retrieved Nile’s gun, handing it to her wordlessly, and then he picked up his own weapon and tucked it into his pants. “All right. Let’s get you the fuck out of this place.”

Mikasa stood rooted to the spot. “Levi?” Her voice sounded small.

He turned back.

“I…I can’t go out into the street like this,” she stated, spreading out her arms and gesturing down at her barely-clad body.

Levi cursed under his breath. “Right,” he said with chagrin. “Sorry. Let me…here,” he said, moving over to the fallen Gavin. He bent down and started undoing the man’s button-up. “It’s not great, but it’ll sure as shit be better than what you’re wearing now.”

Mikasa was about to say thank you when someone stepped through the open office door—someone she had never seen before.

He was young and good-looking, but his handsome features twisted as soon as he saw Darius Zackly’s body. “Papa!” He bellowed. “No! You—” his gaze homed in on Mikasa “—did _you_ do this, puta? Did you murder my father?!”

_Vincent Zackly._

The name came to her immediately, just as the youngest Zackly drew his gun on her.

And just as she remembered the weight of her own weapon.

Without hesitating, she brought the gun up and fired—

“No!” Levi shouted as he shoved Vincent Zackly out of the way at the last millisecond. Instead of finding its mark, the bullet splintered into the wall directly where the young Zackly's head had been a moment before.

Mikasa dropped her gun in shock, too stunned to even move.

“Levi!” Vincent shouted, and then he was rounding on Mikasa, his face livid and wild. “You _bitch!_ First you murder my father and now you shoot at me? I’m going to _fucking kill you!_ ” The last few words were a blinding scream, and the Zackly heir once more zeroed his gun in on Mikasa.

Her eyes widened as she saw Levi move—and then Vincent Zackly fell to the ground, knocked out by the butt of Levi’s gun.

And then she locked eyes with the driver.

_He took you in._

_He showed you kindness._

_He treated you with respect._

_He killed Darius Zackly to save your life._

All the certainties engraved in her mind began to erode as she processed what Levi had just done. All the ways he had proved that he was different, all the things that had showed how unlike the crime families he was…all of it was superseded by the fact that he had just _protected_ the heir to the Zackly family.

Mikasa said the only truth she felt in that moment. “I don’t understand.”

The driver’s mask was impeccable. “And I can’t explain.” He stowed his gun, calmly closed the office door, and bent down, gathering Vincent Zackly’s limp body into his arms. Then he hoisted the taller man over his shoulder like it weighed nothing at all.

Downstairs, there were new sounds. Strange sounds. Heavy boots and voices. Shouts. The sound of people coughing.

Levi had clearly heard the sounds too. “Fucking finally,” he muttered, just loudly enough for Mikasa to catch. He glanced over at her, watching as she moved to retrieve her gun. “Don’t. Leave the gun and stay here. They’re on your side.”

“They?” Mikasa momentarily forgot the gun and rose to her feet, her legs wobbling with effort, her head spinning at the motion. “Who is here, Levi?” She paused, her gaze shifting pointedly to Vincent. “And why should I trust anything you say?”

“I saved your life.”

Mikasa didn’t back down. “You saved _his_ , too.”

“Mikasa.” It was something in the way his voice cracked over the syllables of her name that made her pause. “Please. Just…trust me.”

The sound of footsteps was moving up the stairs.

Mikasa stood rooted to the spot, partially out of exhaustion and partially because she was torn on whether or not she could believe Levi.

But the driver did not share her immobility. He was moving towards the back door of the office with his unconscious quarry, clearly intent on fleeing the scene.

Mikasa, head still swimming, picked up her gun and aimed it at his back. “Stop, Levi. Right there.”

The driver froze and then turned to face her, his stony expression souring a fraction as he saw the gun.

“Let me go, Mikasa.”

She held the gun steady. “If I do that, this will never end.”

“I promise you it will, but _only_ if you let me go.”

There was a crash as the door to the room next to theirs was kicked in.

Mikasa knew they only had a moment, and yet she couldn’t seem to make a decision. She didn’t want to let Vincent Zackly get away, but she also didn’t want to hurt Levi.

There was a term for her predicament, she knew. It was something her superiors had warned her about during training, the thing to avoid at all costs.

_Never let yourself become emotionally compromised._

“Levi…” Her grip tightened on the gun. “I don’t…”

His voice was strong and sure. “Stand down, Agent Ackerman.”

Mikasa’s eyes widened in shock. “You knew?” She gasped.

Levi simply looked back at her, face unreadable.

 _He knew you were an agent. And he_ _helped you in spite of it._

Mikasa lowered her gun.

The driver didn't waste his reprieve. As soon as her weapon wasn't trained on him, he disappeared out the back door.

 _Gone_.

With an alive Vincent Zackly in tow.

And then Mikasa had other things to worry about, because the new arrivals were kicking in the office door. Knowing she had no other immediate option, she discarded her gun and raised her hands in surrender.

Smoke filled the room before the men did.

Choking, Mikasa fell to her knees, and then, in a panic, she began to crawl. But the pain in her wounded body was too great and the smoke was inescapable.

She collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath, and rolled onto her back. There were figures above her, their faces masked. One was speaking to her, but Mikasa couldn’t make out what he was saying.

She closed her eyes, blotting out their distorted silhouettes.

_Why did I trust him? Why?_

It was the last coherent thought she had before consciousness deserted her.

 

**

At half-past seven, Erwin Smith finally powered off his desktop and pushed the mammoth-sized stack of files spread out before him to the side, feeling doleful. He’d gone through a countless number already and had barely made a dent.

Still, tomorrow was another day. His eyes were strained, his headache was edging into migraine territory, and he needed to do something physical after sitting behind a desk for – he glanced at the clock on the wall above his office door – _eleven hours._

Sweet heaven, had it really been _eleven_ hours?

He sighed, running a hand through his blond hair, and stood up.

“Mr. Smith?”

Erwin paused. “Yes, Francesca?”

His demure secretary cracked open the door to his office. “There’s—there’s someone here to see you, sir. Says he has an ‘off-the-books’ appointment?” Her arched brows scrunched together. “I can tell him to leave, if you’d like.”

“Did he give a name?”

A warming blush colored Francesca’s face. “No, sir. I asked, of course, but he...”

“Yes?”

“Forgive my language, but he told me to 'mind my own damn business' and announce him anyway.” The blush deepened. “I apologize, sir; I wasn’t sure what to do. His presence in the waiting room is making me uncomfortable.”

Erwin gave her a wave. “Don’t trouble yourself, Francesca. Send him in and go home. I’ll see you in the morning.”

His secretary hesitated. “Are you sure, Mr. Smith? I’m the only other person in the office right now.”

At that, Erwin smiled. “As unsettling a man as he may seem, I can assure you that he means me no harm. We’ve known each other a very long time.”

Francesca’s mien of displeasure proved she was still far from convinced, but she nodded all the same. “As you wish, sir. See you in the morning.”

“Good night, Francesca,” Erwin said as she closed the door.

A few moments later, the man in question walked into his office, no courtesy knock offered.

Erwin wouldn’t have expected anything else. “Levi,” he greeted, trying not to let the concern show when he noticed the bandage adorning the shorter man’s shoulder. “I wasn’t expecting to see you until tomorrow.”

Levi came to a stop in the middle of the room and shrugged. “I had time tonight, figured I might as well drop in.”

“Oh?”

“Meaning,” Levi continued, “that I managed to persuade Vincent to recover from his ordeal in the family estate outside of the city. The Zackly mansion is, at present, empty.”

“I see.” Erwin walked around his desk and gestured to the two sitting chairs by the window. “Sit with me, Levi,” he requested as he folded himself into one of them.

Levi stayed where he was, looking mildly antsy. “I’d rather not.”

Erwin’s gaze didn’t falter. “I know.”

After a suspended heartbeat, Levi scowled and took the free chair, arranging himself so that he was perched on the edge rather than reclining on the plush seat cushion. He leaned forward and placed his elbows on his knees. Then, to Erwin’s mild surprise, he asked, “How is she?”

Erwin had known Levi would inquire about her, but he hadn’t expected the man to be so forthright about it. “Healing,” he answered. “There was a…a great deal of damage.”

Levi shot him a dark look. “And whose fault is that, huh?” His voice dipped in pitch. “I asked you - practically pleaded with you - to extract her _before_ this shit all went down.”

Erwin steepled his fingers in his lap, an unconscious posture he assumed whenever he was trying to puzzle someone out. “Yes,” he answered, keeping his voice neutral. “You risked a great deal coming here to do that.”

“All for naught. As usual, you just raised those lofty eyebrows at me and did jack and shit.”

“The timing was too risky, Levi. You know that. If I had sent an extraction team in for Mikasa and the Zacklys had heard about it, they might have become worried about police or agency involvement and called off the attack. We needed this war to occur. My hands were tied.”

Levi cut in with a mirthless snort. “It doesn’t count if you tie your own hands, Erwin. You make the rules. You could have done something.”

It was a truth Erwin had long since learned to live with. “Yes,” he replied simply. “I could have.” The neutrality in his voice wavered. “You of all people should understand that burden, Levi.”

Levi raised his head slightly, his brows furrowing together in pain. “True enough,” he replied, voice flat. Then, in a complete turnabout that made Erwin glad he was already sitting down, Levi added, “I’m sorry. You know I respect what you do. I just…” His lips twisted. “We’ve had to let so many agents die, Erwin. Too fucking many. I’ve had to sit back time and again and watch them meet their fates, and this time, I—I couldn’t. Mikasa…” He averted his eyes. “Even I have my breaking point, Erwin.”

_He cares about her. Deeply._

Erwin had suspected it, especially after Levi’s outburst a few days prior which had been _exceedingly_ out of character for the stoic man, but this solidified it in his mind.

Which brought him to the reason he’d asked Levi to come in to begin with. “After this, I’m taking Mikasa out of the field permanently,” Erwin said. “I should have pulled her weeks ago, when she first made contact after Eren’s death, but I admit I risked her so that she could fulfill the mission.” He paused. “She’s almost as stubborn and determined as you, Levi; I knew if she set her mind to it, she’d be successful, so I—I let events play out. But now Vincent Zackly knows her face and attributes his father’s murder to her, so she can no longer work in the field.”

“Even if he didn’t,” Levi interjected, “you’d still need to pull her, Erwin. She’s been through way too much shit and she’s—“ a cold half-smile tugged at his lips “—well, let’s just say she’s as okay as I am.”

Erwin frowned. “Levi, about that…”

The shorter man glanced over at him, gaze wary.

“I think it’s time I pull you out, as well.”

Levi nodded in a way that said he’d been expecting the conversation to head in this direction, but he didn’t say anything, so Erwin continued.

“Seven years deep cover is more than a long time, Levi; it’s a lifetime. You’ve devoted yourself to bringing down the Zackly family and you have been very successful in doing so. I think it’s time to retire your cover for good.”

“No.” Levi stood up and turned to face him head on. “You’re right, Erwin. Seven years is a _lifetime._ I’ve given up everything to see this through—even my humanity. It’s been more than I can—” He cut off abruptly and took a cleansing breath. “For years, I didn’t even feel like I was getting anywhere, but when Vincent became the heir apparent and Darius made me more or less Vincent’s keeper, well…I realized I had a shot. And then Mikasa walked into the mess, and she propelled everything into motion. I owe her more than you realize.”

Erwin didn’t miss the note of respect that seeped into Levi’s tone, but he kept quiet, wanting to hear his agent out.

“Mikasa basically ended the Dok family single-handedly, and I finally got to put an end to Darius Zackly.”

At this, Erwin did cut in. “And yet you spared Vincent.”

“Yes,” Levi replied. “Erwin, I know how this family works. I’ve become _one_ of them, for fuck’s sake. If I’d let Mikasa kill Vincent, the family would have fallen under control of Blaise Goebel, Darius’ first cousin. Blaise is shrewd and resourceful and every bit as ruthless as Darius. Vincent, however, is not.”

Understanding bloomed within Erwin. “But because you saved Vincent, control of the Zackly family will now go to him.”

“Yes, and through him, _me_.” Levi paused. “Vincent trusts me—now more than ever, considering I saved his life. And he is a waste of atoms, a partying drunk who will be more than happy to let me step in and handle the family affairs so that he can keep acting like a pig.”

“Which, I take it, you plan to do.”

At this, Levi offered an icy smile. “I plan to take control and run them right into the ground. By the time I’m done, there will be nothing left.”

Erwin sat in silence for a long while, processing. Finally, he came to a decision. “Levi, if you were anyone else, I would sanction this without blinking an eye. But you…as you’ve said, you’ve devoted a lifetime to this. I want to at least give you the option of walking away.” He looked up at the other man, watching closely for a reaction. “As I said, I am retiring Mikasa Ackerman from field work effective immediately. I could retire you as well. I’m sure I could find a situation that would suit the both of you…if that’s what you want. I’m giving you the option.”

Levi’s face retained the unreadable mask that only an agent who’d been working deep cover for years would have the ability to retain. “It’s a tempting offer, Erwin, but it’s not an offer I'm going to accept. The Zacklys murdered my mother; I owe it to her to see this thing through to the bitter end. I _will_ see it through.”

Erwin frowned. “At the expense of your own freedom and happiness?”

“At the expense of everything.”

Erwin leaned back, regarding his longtime friend and colleague closely. Levi had always been strong—nigh implacably so, but he sensed that something minute had changed within the man in the past few weeks. There seemed to be a rawness, a humanness, that had been reawakened in him, and while Erwin was the commander of the SC first and foremost and cared about the success of his operations, he cared about Levi more.

So he played a card he hoped would make Levi fold. “And what about Mikasa?”

Finally, a fissure appeared in Levi’s mask. “Mikasa…” To Erwin’s great sadness, Levi mastered himself. “She and I will go our separate ways,” he said in a tone that made it clear his mind was made up. “After all, what future would an agent in the SC and a man working for the Zacklys have?”

Levi’s resignation was audible, and it pained Erwin. “Levi—”

“Do you think I’m wrong about what will happen with Vincent in control of the Zackly family?”

Erwin stopped, unwilling to answer.

Levi chuckled dryly. “Didn’t think so. Let me do my job, Erwin.”

“And when the job is done?”

There was a heavy pause. “Maybe desk work wouldn’t be such a terrible thing.”

It was the closest thing to hope Erwin could ask for, so he accepted it. “Very well.”

Levi inclined his head and turned for the door. “Til next time, Erwin,” he said as he turned the knob.

“Levi.”

The other man paused.

“537G.”

Levi arched an eyebrow at him.

“That’s her room at the hospital.”

Levi didn’t react or acknowledge the information in any way, and he slipped from the office without another word.

Erwin stared after him for a long time, and then, feeling even wearier than he’d felt a half hour earlier, he stood up, flicked off the lights, and left the office.

 

**

Levi watched her sleep, only slightly comforted by the regular rise and fall of her chest. She looked terrible—her exposed skin a canvas of abuse, and the IV protruding from her hand and the beep of the heart monitor machine only heightened the fact that she had come very close to dying.

Levi wasn’t sure how long he’d been there watching her, but he knew visiting hours had long since ended, and aside from the normal, mechanical background sounds that every hospital seemed imbued with, the place was quiet. He was alone with a slumbering Mikasa and his own thoughts.

Still, he tried not to think, because when he did, Erwin’s offer was at the forefront of his mind, beckoning to him like a siren.

_A life with Mikasa, a life outside of the mafia._

Granted, for all he knew, Mikasa would not want anything to do with him; he hadn’t missed the look of deep mistrust in her eyes after he’d spared Vincent Zackly from her bullet.

Levi was still pondering this thought when he realized, quite suddenly, that Mikasa’s eyes were open and that she was staring at him through her half-raised eyelashes.

He saw her throat work. “Le-vi,” she managed to croak out. Her voice was heavy with medication, and the effect of whatever meds were being pumped into her was visible in her watery eyes as well. Her dark brows furrowed slightly. “Why…?”

“Don’t worry; I’m just passing through,” he lied, although the fact that he had dragged a chair to her bedside and was parked beside her like he was intent on growing roots no doubt gave him away.

Mikasa licked her chapped lips. “You were telling the truth,” she said at length.

It was Levi’s turn to feel confused. “What?”

“They came…they were my people. Agents.”

Understanding blossomed. “Yeah, they were.” Levi hung his head. “I’m sorry, Mikasa. I really did try to get you out sooner, I just…couldn’t.”

“’S okay,” she mumbled. She coughed once, a raw sound that made Levi’s heart clench uncomfortably. “Can we…talk later? When I’m not…” She raised her IV-ed hand weakly.

Levi nodded. “If you want to, sure,” he said, though he guessed she wouldn’t feel the same way when she was in full control of her faculties.

He rose. “I’ll leave my contact info with your boss,” he said. “But if you change your mind—”

“I won’t.”

Levi felt his lips pull up in a faint smile in spite of himself. _You never lose your resilience, do you, Mikasa?_

He sighed. “Get some rest, Mikasa,” he said, rising from the chair.

To his surprise, she reached out and tugged weakly on the hem of his shirt. “Stay?”

Levi was convinced he’d misheard her. “What?” He asked for the second time in as many minutes.

Mikasa blinked, her eyes clearing just enough for him to see a tinge of vulnerability. “Just until I…I fall back asleep. Please.”

As if he could have refused her.

“All right. Just until you fall asleep.”

He sat back down, wondering – not for the first time – how Mikasa would react if she knew who he really was. It seemed that, for some baffling reason and despite who she thought he was, she didn’t hate him. If anything, she seemed to care about him on some level. So how would she react if she knew that they actually worked for the same organization? That his true values and goals were not so different from hers? That he hadn’t always been the husk of a man seated before her now?

_Maybe she would accept you. Maybe she would even offer to help you._

He wondered if he would be able to walk away from her if she did, if he would have the strength to make her leave, the strength to keep her safe.

He doubted it.

Mikasa’s gaze dropped to where his arms were folded in his lap, and wordlessly, Levi raised his hand onto the bed and slid it into her waiting, upturned one. “Get some rest,” he said, his voice as quiet and gentle as he could make it.

All too easily, her eyes slid shut.

Levi stayed there long after the steady rise and fall of her chest recommenced, lost in thought.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you SO MUCH for all the love and support and comments you guys bestowed on me last chapter! It was really nice to have that after being gone from the fandom for so long. I am pretty excited about this chapter (it's the one I've been DYING to write since I started this hot mess of a fic lol) so I hope you enjoyed it! 
> 
> Hugs.


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